


you were born an ocean (and i'm scared of the riptide)

by icedlatteextrashot



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Artist Sugawara Koushi, Both literally and figuratively, Chaotic Suga, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Reliable Daichi, Slight kuroken, Slow Burn, Suga is a mess, all the coffee, as he should be, coffee shop AU, i just love them ok, kind of, novelist daichi, slight bokuaka, slight iwaoi - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 66,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26762251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedlatteextrashot/pseuds/icedlatteextrashot
Summary: “Bokuto, be quiet.”Bokuto’s mouth closed with a snap, the sudden sound echoing in the warm full air of the coffeeshop. He scratched again at the bare expanse of skin on his chest that rose above the collar of his forest green sweater, the bright red marks behind evidence of his too harsh motion.He opened and closed his mouth once, twice, before a squeak pushed past his lips. “Kenma, do we… ya know? Should we…”Kenma’s eyes once again narrowed on the cafe behind Daichi, who forced himself to not turn around to gawk openly at whatever it was that had Kenma’s attention. Before he could make any move to turn around, Kenma’s small hands were on his arms, pulling him back to the counter, his cat-like eyes glowing golden in the warm light.“No, I don’t think we should. I want to see what happens.”--Daichi Sawamura was used to staying still.And he liked it that way.But when he's thrown into motion one fall morning by a stranger with silver hair, he realizes he has a lot to learn, not just about the world, but about himself as well.Daichi Sawamura was used to staying still.And he liked it that way.Right?
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 242
Kudos: 116





	1. Stillness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Agoraphobia](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hEWnzBSwJyE)  
> If you gave me all the money  
> I would buy such ordinary  
> Things like TV magazines and coffee beans  
> I have such simple needs  
> Tried on 13 different pairs of  
> Shoes and not one made me want to  
> Leave this blessèd house of mine  
> That’s just fine  
> I really don’t want to go anywhere
> 
> Hello new friends! And welcome to my first ever fanfic! I finished my first novel back in the spring, and my newest draft just got sent out to my beta readers which means I have nothing to do and my fingers have been itching to write something, so here we are! Welcome! I had planned on this being a shorter one since it's my first time, but knowing me that won't happen, so strap down and get ready!

Daichi Sawamura was used to staying still.

  
No, not still in the sense that he never moved, never breathed, never left the comfortable confines of his dad’s old recliner he inherited when he moved out on his own for the first time.

  
Not still in the literal sense.

  
No, his stillness was in the way he leaned into the comfortable and monotonous hum of each day. The predictability of the sun rising and poking its prying rays through the useless blinds he kept meaning to place a curtain over but never did. The way his alarm sounded once, twice, three times before he hit it right on beat with the lull between the third and the fourth. The way he rubbed his eyes and stretched as he gathered up the comforter and sheets that always, without fail, fell off during the night, no matter how long he spent tucking their edges and seams under the mattress the day before. A 3-mile jog around the park bordering his apartment complex (exactly 3. He had measured it and measured it again many times before until he knew exactly where the rock that looked a little bit like a gnome marked the end of his run) before coming back to a brisk five-minute shower, the three and a half minutes it took to make his 400-gram pour-over, the amount of beans weighed perfectly each time. Two minutes to make his toast, a minute to eat it, thirty seconds to pour the remainder of his coffee into his favorite black travel mug, always spilling a single drop, even when he tried his hardest not to.

  
His stillness was in the way he buckled himself into his car, turning the engine at the same time. The same true-crime podcast he listened to every morning, though he had almost caught up and was anxious about what to start next when he finally reached the dreaded end. Thirteen minutes to drive to work, four turns (one left, three right, avoid Lotus Street when school started up again, it always got backed up with parents dropping off children) before pulling into the familiar parking lot and parking in the same spot in the back he always did.

  
His stillness was in the way he always knew the exact timing and pitch of the bell that chimed every morning when he pushed open the door to the coffee shop. The way he could predict exactly how it would smell the second the door opened enough for the tendrils of warm air inside to slip out and tickle the sensitive underside of his nose. The friendly wave of the baristas he all knew by name as their eyes eagerly flitted back and forth between the clock on the wall and the door he entered through, one always groaning in defeat while the other cheered, gesturing for the first to hand him or her a cookie for the daily bet between baristas on whether or not he would be perfectly on time.

  
He always was. He didn’t know why they kept making bets when they knew how it would turn out. His drink was already ready in the time it took him to take the eighteen steps from the door to the cash register, a couple minutes of idle chat with the baristas as they handed him his latte in exchange for exactly $4.56. He always dropped two dollars in the tip jar, the hand lettering on the front that said “thanks a latte!” worn but still readable. A few more minutes of conversation with whoever was working that morning before he made his way to the table in the corner, fit perfectly between the wall on one side and the big window on the other, careful not to spill whatever latte art the barista had chosen for that morning. The most unpredictable part of his day, though he was growing to learn the tendencies of each barista and it was becoming easier and easier to guess what it would be the second he walked in.

  
His stillness was in the way he always sat at the same table, the one nestled in the corner between the wall and the window. It wasn’t his table, necessarily, but it might as well have been. The usual customers had grown used to his habits and always left it open, no matter how busy the shop was that morning. Because at exactly 7:52 he was sitting there, laptop and notebook and pens arranged perfectly around him, latte in hand as he settled in for the day.

  
The day would pass, another two coffees ready for him, just black drip this time, one at 10:30 and another at 2, a warm turkey club at exactly noon, before he would pack up all his belongings, place his dishes in the return bucket by the condiment counter, wave goodbye to the baristas who had switched out at lunchtime, and exit into the parking lot at 5.

  
His nights were even stiller than his days, if that were possible.

  
Daichi Sawamura was used to staying still.

  
And he liked it that way.

The faint hum of the tv filled the room, the static noise pressing its way into every open crack and crevice, lapping at the pictureless walls and folding over the couch where Daichi sat, legs crossed over the old wooden coffee tab in front of him, its scratched and marred surface riddled with cups and bowls and takeout boxes. A takeout box much like some of the ones on the table rested in his left hand as he absentmindedly picked at the rice with the chopsticks in his right. He wasn’t paying attention to the tv (he hadn’t been for a while), the black and fuzzy claws of sleep crawling up his body and scratching at his eyes as he struggled to keep them open. He could go to bed now, throw the mostly empty containers in the trash and the cups in the dishwasher before flipping off the tv and plodding down the hall to bed, but it was still too early. Going to bed now would mess up his well-timed sleep schedule, and it had taken him too long to finally settle into the routine he was determined to stick to.

  
He liked his routine. He was never worried about what he was going to do or when he was going to do it. The biggest decision of his day revolved over whether he was going to attempt to cook something in the small kitchen in his apartment for dinner or if he was just going to call in takeout for the night, the latter usually winning when he was reminded of his lack of cooking expertise.

  
The sudden movement of his body as he jerked awake sent pieces of rice flying everywhere, over every available surface, and even into his eyes. He groaned at the realization that he had fallen asleep on the couch, the worst possible thing he could have done. Another groan when he checked the time on his phone, the light from it momentarily blinding in the room lit only by the faint glow of the tv on the opposite side of the space. There went his perfectly manicured sleeping schedule.

  
Daichi rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, brushing off the pieces of sticky rice stuck to his eyelashes. Sighing, he set his now empty takeout container on the coffee table with the rest of his dirty dishes, where he knew they’d stay till tomorrow night. Getting up to clean them up now would only wake him up, making it harder for him to fall asleep at his allotted bedtime.  
As a child and moody teen, he couldn’t wait to be an adult. He’d get to make his own rules, choose his own bedtime, watch tv whenever he wanted, eating as much greasy fast food as he wanted without a scolding adult telling him to eat some carrots.

  
But now here he was, finally an adult, with a job that paid well, no adults telling him what to do, and yet now he had a self-appointed bedtime, which he willingly stuck to without complaint. Hell, he even scolded himself when he almost missed it.

  
Daichi wondered when it was that he became the scolding adult he had spent his entire teen years trying desperately to get rid of.

  
But he wasn’t unhappy. Not really. His life was boring and monotonous, but he preferred it that way. He had the occasional night out with his friends, and even if they teased him for always leaving in time to make it back for his bedtime, he enjoyed their company.

  
Daichi Sawamura was completely content in the stillness of his life.

  
Or at least that’s what he told himself.

  
Two minutes to brush his teeth, each tooth lovingly cared for. One minute to wash his face, ridding any of the lingering stickiness that reminisced of the renegade rice from his cheeks and eyelashes.

  
He blinked at himself in the mirror, a curtain of sleepiness shrouding his lidded eyes as he winced at the light purple tinge under them. It didn’t take much for his body to remind him of his mistake, and he knew they’d only be worse in the morning. His brown eyes didn’t shine in the warm fluorescent light of his bathroom. Instead, they retreated back into his skull, hidden under the shadows of his eyelashes that he struggled to keep up.

  
The short walk from his bathroom to his bed was familiar, each footstep falling perfectly in sync with the path from earlier. He wondered how long it would take before each footstep was permanently worn into the carpet, ridding him of any chance of getting his security deposit back.

  
His bed was warm, the covers pulled tightly around his shoulders, though he knew he’d just find them on the floor in the morning. It was almost too big, and he often found himself curled up into a ball on the left side rather than utilizing its expanse of space. But it was familiar, and even when a stray limb found its way onto the unused side, the cold emptiness making him shiver in his sleep, he enjoyed the way it felt.

  
He was content.

The bell was too loud this morning, screaming in his ears as he pushed open the familiar wooden door to the coffee shop. Though, really, it wasn’t any louder than it had been, he just had an ache that echoed through his skull and bounced off his bones, and the normally comforting sound of the welcome bell instead only served to sizzle red-hot in the space behind his eyes. The two ibuprofen hadn’t helped, and neither had the pour-over he’d made that morning, but there was really nothing else he could do other than sip on his latte and push through until he could go home for the day.

  
He glared at the light above him, which also seemed to scream this morning, before moving his eyes to the counter and the baristas behind it.

  
The two baristas waved to him before looking up at the clock on the wall. The shorter one, a man with longer, bleached blond locks, smirked. The other one, a mass of gray and black and yellow pounded his fists into the counter.

  
“Dammit, I thought I had it this time.”

  
The shorter one held out his hand, in a way that looked like he almost didn’t care, though Daichi knew he did. “I win. Now pay up.”

  
The taller man groaned, louder than socially acceptable for a barista in a coffee shop full of morning patrons, though no one paid him any mind. Sighing, he placed an apple cinnamon scone in the awaiting hand of the other, who’s lips twitched at the sight.

  
“Thank you. I don’t know why you even bother, you know it will never happen”

  
“Ugh, it will just you wait! I’ll get you eventually!”

  
“Doubt it.”

  
Daichi stepped towards the register, ignoring their banter just like he always did. He knew it must be strange to have a customer that arrived at exactly the same time every day, no matter the weather or day. And he enjoyed their company.

  
His eyes flicked back and forth between them, his brows creasing. Bokuto had a fondness for slowsettas, showing off his skill with his perfect microfoam and the motion of his pitcher, though when he was tired he always defaulted to a simple tulip. Kenma preferred swans, the almost unnoticeable movement of his wrist serving to create one of the more complex designs with what looked like no effort. Though he had an air of indifference, his competitive spirit came out in the way he poured, and if he wasn’t challenging a coworker to a throwdown, he was always pushing to beat his personal best.

  
The bigger man slid a yellow ceramic cup from the top of the espresso machine, and though he didn’t look tired, necessarily, the way his shoulders slumped and his normally big eyes drooped showed his resignation at losing the morning’s bet.

  
A tulip. Five parts.

  
Daichi was sure of it.

  
“Morning, Kenma,” he said, leaning his elbow on the counter in front of the register.

  
“Morning, Daichi,” came the dull reply. If Daichi didn’t know better, he might have thought the nonchalant tone rude, but he knew the barista before him well enough to know that his attitude was anything but. The slight pull of a smile on the corners of his mouth proved it.

  
“HEY HEY HEY, Daichi! Dang, did you sleep last night? You look like crap.”

  
“Bokuto, you can’t just say everything that pops into your head.”

  
“Sorry, Kenma. Sorry, Daichi. I didn’t mean it, I swear. You look as fresh and bright as you did coming into this world.”

  
Daichi chuckled at the man behind the espresso machine, who was moving to slide the ceramic mug towards him. “Don’t worry about it, Bokuto. I know I look awful. I have eyes and a mirror, unfortunately. And just so you know, I came out screaming and definitely not fresh or bright.”

  
He peered down at the cup that now nestled in the palm of the hand he had set on the counter to catch the latte as it slid towards him. Tulip. Five parts. Daichi smiled.

  
Bokuto’s laughter suddenly cut short, and Daichi looked up at him in confusion. A wide look of panic had crossed his normally bright face, and he tugged at the collar of his sweatshirt with one hand, the other gripping his used milk pitcher so tightly his knuckles bloomed white.

  
“You okay, Bokuto?”

  
“I- uhh…”

  
Bokuto seemed to be sweating, and though the coffee shop was warm and he was wearing a sweater, Daichi didn’t think it enough to form a sweat.

  
Kenma’s eyes darted to something behind Daichi, and they narrowed even more than they were already. They moved from whatever was behind him to his face, and then back to the cafe behind him before snapping quickly back to Bokuto, who suddenly had an elbow in his ribcage.

  
“OW, Kenma! Why’dya do that?”

  
“Bokuto, be quiet.”

  
Bokuto’s mouth closed with a snap, the sudden sound echoing in the warm full air of the coffeeshop. He scratched again at the bare expanse of skin on his chest that rose above the collar of his forest green sweater, the bright red marks behind evidence of his too harsh motion.

  
He opened and closed his mouth once, twice, before a squeak pushed past his lips. “Kenma, do we… ya know? Should we…”

  
Kenma’s eyes once again narrowed on the cafe behind Daichi, who forced himself to not turn around to gawk openly at whatever it was that had Kenma’s attention. Before he could make any move to turn around, Kenma’s small hands were on his arms, pulling him back to the counter, his cat-like eyes glowing golden in the warm light.

  
“No, I don’t think we should. I want to see what happens.”

  
“What do you mean, ‘see what happens?’ What are you talking about?” Daichi could feel the sweat start to form on his own back, and he had a feeling it wasn’t from the heat of the shop but rather the intensity of the predatory gaze now zeroed in on his face.

  
“You’ll see,” Kenma drawled, before letting go of Daichi’s arm and resting his feet back on the ground, where they had left for a moment when he had leaned over the counter to grab Daichi’s forearm.

  
It was clear Kenma wasn’t going to give anything away, so Daichi turned instead to Bokuto, who immediately started stuttering, not a single coherent word making it’s way past his rapidly moving lips.

  
Daichi could feel the way his brow furrowed in confusion, and he willed it to smooth out. The creasing did nothing to help the aching throb that still sat behind his eyes, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. More confused than curious, he placed his card in Kenma’s hand, dropping his normal $2 into the tip jar with the other. He didn’t like the way Kenma’s eyes had remained lit with mischief since he had let go of Daichi’s arm, a sight he wasn’t used to seeing on the man’s face. And he for sure didn’t like the way Bokuto continued to sweat, how his eyes never fully landed on Daichi's but rather flitted nervously from his nose up to the ceiling.

  
He definitely didn’t like the way Bokuto only half-smiled when Daichi complimented his latte art.

  
Bokuto didn’t half do anything.

  
The strange shift in the two baristas was confusing, but Daichi knew better than to push. He wouldn't get anything out of them, and his headache was starting to peak towards the beginning of a migraine.

  
He thanked the baristas before turning back to the cafe, completely forgetting their strange behavior thanks to the white noise now mostly blocking his vision. His hindered sight did nothing to sway him as he made the way to his table. He knew each step by heart, where each chair was, how far it could be pushed out, how to avoid the one piece of cracked tile that he had seen many people stumble over. He could do it with his eyes closed, nothing but the sound of his shoes on the floor to guide him towards the place he sat every day.  
And that’s why, when his foot hit something that definitely shouldn’t be there, and his latte splashed over the cup and onto his hand with the sudden way his body jerked to catch himself, his eyes widened in surprise, the sting of the hot coffee no longer the thing his mind focused on.

  
His eyes met the piercing gaze of the object he had run into, his mouth moving but no words coming out.

  
“I, uh..”

  
The white haze rolled back as he fully focused on the scene before him.

  
“Excuse me, but you’re in my seat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woohooo thanks for reading you guys! I'm probably going to be updating every Saturday, but it might change to every other if things get crazy. You may have noticed some coffee and latte art terms in there, and if you don't know them, have no fear! I will be linking images and descriptions down here for everything! I was a shift lead in a coffee shop for a while and my pet peeve is reading incorrect coffee shop aus where it's obvious there was no research done. This is a [slowsetta](https://www.reddit.com/r/barista/comments/cv37zr/my_slowsetta_game_is_improving/) that Bokuto is fond of, and here is a [tulip](https://pin.it/6U5dR3B) that Bokuto does when he's tired. He does a 5 part version of this for Daichi. And here is Kenma's [swan](https://pin.it/2iBG5un), which is the hardest, in my opinion!


	2. Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But the man in front of him didn’t fit into that puzzle. He didn’t fit into any puzzle Daichi had ever accomplished. In all his years fitting people and emotions and habits together, he had never met a puzzle like this man.
> 
> He was a misplaced piece. A piece that somehow found its way into the wrong box, his pattern and outline different enough to stand out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Hallucinate](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YL3LElw-ylA)  
> Light, pave the way  
> Life, you're my cage  
> I've been a bad man biting the hand of fate  
> Fighting for freedom - please, don't wait  
> I've been waiting  
> Wardens weigh in my brain  
> Oh lay  
> Hoping, hiding  
> Hating how I can't wait  
> Hallucinate
> 
> Welcome back friends! As promised, here is chapter 2! I actually wrote this chapter in a coffee shop, so that's fitting! Here we go!

Daichi Sawamura was used to staying still.

And that’s why, when he came face to face with something that threatened to steal him from his shroud of stillness, he tended to get a little bit aggressive.

It wasn’t his fault.

Not really.

After all, it was _his_ table.

Right?

Sure, it didn’t have his name engraved on its coffee-stained surface, and sure there wasn’t a bronze plaque ceremoniously bolted to the side of it with a flourish.

But it was his nonetheless.

And everyone knew it.

Well, he thought everyone knew it.

“Excuse me, but you’re in my seat.”

The figure before him, still partially fuzzed-out by the lingering haze of Daichi’s morning migraine, leaned onto their elbows, a bit more dramatically than Daichi thought they needed to be, and proceeded to only look straight forward, not turning to look towards where Daichi stood, still frozen at the sight of _someone_ at his table. 

The figure was ignoring him. 

On purpose.

“That’s my table.”

The words that escaped through his gritted teeth were a little more biting than he meant them to be, but could you blame him? He’d fallen asleep on the couch, messed up his sleep schedule, had been fighting off an unyielding migraine since the second the first beat of his alarm went off, and here he was, just wanting to get on with the day so he could get it over with, preferably with no more hiccups or bumps. 

And yet there was _someone_ sitting at his table. In his seat.

Could you blame him?

He felt a twinge of regret as he sucked in air to fill the hole the words left in his mouth. Maybe he was a bit too aggressive. 

“I don’t see anything saying it’s _your_ table. Did I miss a reservation card or something?”

Okay, maybe he hadn’t been too aggressive.

Another wave of heat flashed over his hand as the latte spilled once again. Maybe it was just because he was now almost completely out of his haze, and maybe it was because he was slightly angry, but it hurt a lot more this time. 

“Careful, you’re making a mess. Don’t want to slip, now do you?”

Daichi felt his lips twitch into a snarl at the condescending words that hovered in the warm air of the coffee shop and wrapped around his head until the weight was heavy enough to push him towards the floor. 

The sound of a mug shattering on the ground brought him completely out of his white haze, his eyes finally focusing, first on the shards of yellow resting in the remainder of his latte that was now spilling down the tile, then moving up to the figure at the table.

A man. 

The man smirked when he met Daichi’s eyes, the smugness of the stranger’s features flitting over every part of his almost elfin face. One delicate hand rested around a mug of his own, this one not shattered on the floor, the other playing with a long star earring dangling from his right ear. His eyes, though round in nature, were narrowed in a way that was both unamused and terrifying, the electric gaze glinting off his hazel irises. His hair was an unnatural shade of silver, the parts at the top lighter and almost metallic from where the sun regularly hit them. The longer strands were swept away from his pale face and tied into a short ponytail at the back of his head, the short strands at the front falling loose around his forehead and ears. It was clear that not much time had been spent on the style by the messy tail and tangled edges. In contrast to the silver hues that haloed his head, the tips were a deep royal purple, blended effortlessly into the silver. 

His clothes, however, contrasted with the edgy style of his hair, though no less eclectic. The black cardigan dwarfed his smaller frame, the too-long sleeves reaching past his wrist and covering his thumbs. The purple button-up underneath was popped open down to the middle of his chest, the exotic birds that graced the bright pattern flying across every available inch of space, little white flowers filling the spots between the birds’ wings. The wild shirt was tucked into ripped black skinny jeans, rolled up at the ankle, just enough for Daichi to see the mismatched purple socks poking out from his white high top converse, which looked to be flecked with paint of varying colors. A dainty silver chain dipped into his exposed collarbone, the small moon at the end matching the star hanging from his right ear.

If Daichi has seen him on the street or around town, he would have thought the man a troublemaker and steered far away, yet here he was, face to face with him, a broken mug at his feet, the latte almost touching the edges of his loafers as it made its descent down the tile.

“Someone could slip, ya know.”

Daichi’s head snapped from his feet to the eyes of the man in front of him, the space behind his eyes warm and foggy as he stared at the man. The silver-haired man spun one of his delicate fingers along the rim of the mug on the table in front of him, never once blinking as he zeroed in on Daichi’s stunned face. 

“That’s a safety hazard.”

Daichi sputtered. “W-what?”

The man, still spinning his fingertip on the mug, uncrossed his legs and stretched one out, pointing his toe till it was directed at the mess at Daichi’s feet.

“You dropped your drink. Someone could slip.”

“Oh, I.. uh…”

The man sighed, the rhythmic movement of his hand on the mug stilled, the absence of the small squeak it had created palpable. 

“Come on, do your best ‘human wet floor sign’ impersonation and stand over that puddle so no one steps in it. I’ll go get a mop and broom, since you’re obviously incoherent at the moment.”

The gulp Daichi had attempted was now lodged in his throat, cutting off any words or sounds as he unsuccessfully opened his mouth to respond to the stranger. 

Who was this man?

And why hadn’t Bokuto or Kenma done anything about the mess?

He whipped his head around to the counter, just in time to see Bokuto squeak and fling himself behind the espresso machine, attempting to hide from Daichi’s gaze, though the spikes of white and gray hair poking out gave him away. 

Kenma was smirking, obviously enjoying the encounter, making no effort to hide his gaze. Daichi had never seen him so amused, which scared him just a bit more than he thought it would. 

Daichi hoped his glare was convincing, though the drag of his eyes as he set them narrower than usual seemed to pull the haze back over, like a comforter on a snowy morning, his head pounding once again. Sighing, Kenma smacked Bokuto’s arm, who came running over with a towel and a broom, setting immediately to work on the mess at Daichi’s feet, not a single sound escaping the normally boisterous man. 

On any other day, Daichi would have been concerned at the lack of laughter and over-exuberant “hey hey hey!”s, but this morning had already been weird enough, and honestly, nothing could startle him at that moment. 

The man at his table hadn’t said anything since Daichi had turned to the workers at the counter, but the gentle smirk of his mouth said more than words could. Daichi believed himself to be above average at reading people. No, not just above average. He was good at it, there was no denying it. The telling twist of a wrist, the way eyes shone (or rather the way they didn’t) in light, the subtle twitches and glances and nervous picking. 

Each was a puzzle piece, fitting into others with a satisfying _snap_. A picture, a person, would start to emerge, slowly at first, when the pieces were all scattered on the table or the floor. But once the first match was complete, it became easier and easier to fit the others into place, until the person standing in front of him was full and whole and _known_.

Daichi was good at putting puzzles together. 

He had found that normality was what people strived for, to blend in, to fit like a middle puzzle piece, nestled safely with no chance of falling off the edge of the table and onto the floor like edge pieces tended to do. 

Daichi thought of himself as a middle piece. 

Content.

Safe.

Secure within the embrace of others.

But the thing about middle pieces is that they tend to become insignificant when snapped into place.

No one looked at the middle pieces.

Middle pieces disappeared into the whole of the puzzle.

But it didn’t bother Daichi. Not really. So what if people never pulled him out of the crowd, paid attention to the way his edges fit into the creases of others, how his colors and pattern completed something unfinished? So what if people never saw him. That’s why he was a middle piece, an afterthought after the outline of the image had been scoured and fussed over by eager hands that lost steam once the most important part was finished.

It made him a good writer. Being able to see into others the way he often wished others could see into him. He knew how puzzles worked, how they always worked, without fail. 

But the man in front of him didn’t fit into that puzzle. He didn’t fit into any puzzle Daichi had ever accomplished. In all his years fitting people and emotions and habits together, he had never met a puzzle like this man.

He was a misplaced piece. A piece that somehow found its way into the wrong box, his pattern and outline different enough to stand out.

Unique enough to catch Daichi’s eye. 

The misplaced puzzle piece in front of him blinked slowly, dramatically, the small mole under his left eye brushed by long eyelashes. He dipped his pinky into the drink in front of him, swirling it around for a second before resting the coffee drenched finger to his lips, letting the liquid run down his dainty finger to rest in the empty space between his pinky and ring finger, the cavern where they connected a resting place for the drips of coffee. 

He didn’t seem to care. 

The man blinked again, gaze still narrowed on Daichi’s face. Bokuto had finished cleaning the floor at this point, and Daichi didn’t know how long it had been, how long he had been staring at the face in front of him, elfin and strong at the same time, a cacophony of light and power and something Daichi couldn’t quite place. 

He gulped.

“Let me buy you a new drink. Since ya know, you dropped yours.”

“Wh-what?”

“Let me buy you a new one.”

Daichi found his hand clutched to his chest, gripping the fabric of his sweater tightly in his fist, the woven pattern of the fabric imprinting on his palm. The stranger was still looking at him, pinky still resting on full lips, waiting for Daichi’s response to his proposition.

“I-”

“You make a horrible wet floor sign, you know that, right?”

“I-what?”

“You didn’t even stand over the mess. You just stood there and froze to the side. Wet floor signs are supposed to, ya know, protect people from a slippery situation. You just stood there and stared at me. Someone could have slipped and I don’t think you would have even noticed.”

Daichi could feel the confusion in his brows, as he stared, mouth agape, at the stranger who found it acceptable to lecture him.

His looming migraine hadn’t prepared him for this.

“You make a horrible wet floor sign. So let me buy you a new drink and you can sit right here at your table and we can discuss how you can do better next time. Call it an evaluation of sorts.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You want your table back, don’t you? I have no clue why when there are so many other empty tables here.” The silver-haired man gestured to the open tables in the interior of the cafe. “But for some reason, you want this one. Now, I’ve grown fond of this table in the time that I’ve been sitting here, so this is my proposition. I buy you a new drink, and we share the table. How about that? You have a new drink and your favorite table, and I get to stay here where I’ve already settled.”

It’s not that Daichi hated human interaction. In fact, he enjoyed meeting new people and seeing how their puzzle pieces fit. He often convinced himself his affinity for interaction was because it helped his writing, and it did, but there was an uncomfortable ache in his chest when he was alone for too long, one that seemed to fade, if only for a moment, when he had the opportunity to piece together someone new. 

Daichi liked being able to breathe.

And he really wanted to figure out the man in front of him. 

He slid his messenger bag to the floor by the empty chair, and though it wasn’t the chair he normally sat in (that one was occupied by the stranger, who seemed in no hurry to move), it was still his table, and some semblance of familiarity was better than nothing.

Even if the man had insulted him moments before.

The chair felt new under him, not knowing his body like the other one, which had begun to crease and dip and curve to the shape of Daichi over the last few years. Everything felt new about this situation, but Daichi didn’t have it in him to complain.

“What did you have? In your mug? So I can go get you a new one?”

“Oh, just a latte.”

“A man of simple taste, huh.” The words felt condescending, but looking up to connect his eyes with those of the man in front of him, the hints of condescension that Daichi’s mind convinced him were laced to the words slipped off and rolled away. The hazel eyes of the stranger glinted in the low morning light of the coffee shop, golden in the glow of Edison bulbs roped from the ceiling to hang in the air around them, sentinels of light keeping watch over a fortress. 

No, it wasn’t condescension, Daichi realized.

It was mirth.

The words were trapped in a buoyancy, afloat like the lightbulbs in the warm heavy air. 

Teasing.

Daichi found himself smiling. “Yeah, I like to think I’m a simple man. Makes it easy.” 

The stranger tilted his head at Daichi’s attempt at a retort. “A simple-natured man of consistency? Wouldn’t it be a shame if someone were to…”

Daichi’s breath sped up as the man’s voice dropped to a whisper, the clawing edges of his voice climbing up Daichi’s back under his sweater and tickling the back of his neck. He shivered, though the shop was warm.

“... threaten that. Change it up a bit.”

Daichi couldn’t tell if the man was joking, but he didn’t want to find out. 

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I would. You almost spilled your drink on me, after all. And making me buy a new one for you? Now that’s just cruel.”

“I didn’t make-”

“Now, I wonder what sort of interesting flavor combinations the baristas could figure out. They look like the sort to experiment. And from the way they’ve been watching for the past few minutes, I’m sure they’d loooooove to test some new ones out. Now, no guarantees they’ll be safe, but what’s life without a little bit of life-threatening experimentation?”

  
  


“No, please don’t, I’m too young to die. I don’t want to go like this.”

The man didn’t answer, just laughed as he pushed himself out of his seat, stretched with his hands up above his head, and started to walk over to the counter. Daichi’s gaze followed him as he ambled to where Bokuto and Kenma were still watching, a suspicious grin stapled to his face. Daichi couldn’t move as he watched the man lean over and whisper to the two baristas, who, much to Daichi’s dismay, lit up at whatever the man had said, all three making a point to look back at where Daichi was sitting.

A sliver of sweat snaked down his spine and settled in the small of his back.

He didn’t like that.

Not one bit.

He didn’t like it when Kenma nodded, pushing away the money the stranger offered in payment. He didn’t like it when the stranger just grinned and nodded as he shoved the bills into the pocket of his cardigan. He didn’t like it when Bokuto reached too eagerly for a mug and almost dropped it in the process.

Not one bit.

He especially didn’t like the way the silver-haired man’s eyes glinted as he eased his way back over to the table, new mug in hand, moving too slowly for Daichi’s liking.

But the man slid the new drink onto the table in front of Daichi and settled back into his seat (well, Daichi’s seat), leaning his elbows on the table where he rested his chin, eagerly awaiting Daichi’s reaction. 

The drink looked normal. Bokuto had gone for a slowsetta this time, his dejection over his loss in that morning’s bet gone. There was something drizzled over the top, too light to be caramel. Honey, maybe?

“You gonna try it or are you just gonna stare at it all day?”

The man was smiling, though Daichi didn’t know if he had ever stopped since the smile had lit his face earlier. Something in Daichi’s stomach twitched at the sight, a rush of nausea as he blinked away from the steady gaze of the stranger. He rubbed lightly at his stomach, not noticing the scratch of wool as he sought to calm whatever it was that made its home in his insides. 

“Go on, try it.”

“It won’t kill me, right?”

“No guarantees,” the stranger laughed, his laugh was warm and light and almost enough to ease the fear in Daichi’s chest. But it just served to increase the twisting of his stomach.

More tentative than anything, Daichi lifted the cup to his lips, feeling the warmth of the cup echo through his bones, never taking his eyes off the man in front of him. The first sip coated his lips and tongue, the microfoam bursting at the contact, tickling his top lip as the rest of the sip settled in his mouth. It was definitely honey, he realized, and something else, something almost nutty. It was…

Comforting.

He swallowed, the now mostly cooled liquid traveling down to where the warmth and nausea were already swirling together in his belly, joining in their twisting and growing the warmth that now seeped out to his skeleton. 

His whole body was warm, every atom of his being ignited on fire as his eyes remained locked on the soft eyes in front of him, the ones that danced and twirled and laughed in delight as Daichi felt himself smile into the drink. 

He’d never experienced anything like this before.

They stayed like that, eyes unmoving, for a few moments in time, the hum and buzz of the coffee shop around them fuzzing into oblivion, nothing more than the white noise of a tv in the background, nothing more than a song through the speakers of a car, the volume turned low enough that you could hear the way the tires connected with the roughness of the road, nothing more than the hum of a bee flitting from flower to flower in new spring air. 

He’d written about moments like this, moments where everything seemed to stop. He’d written it many times before, seen the way his readers loved the moments he thought just existed in fiction, where someone else was controlling the story, where he was the one in charge of the way the words flowed and rolled and crashed on the page. But in his 25 years of living, he’d never experienced one of those moments himself.

He didn’t think they existed in real life.

It was monumental, this moment, he knew that immediately, even though he was unable to place his finger on the why. He knew it was monumental like he knew the way he breathed was monumental: life-giving, without thought, absolutely needed in every minute, the way a corner piece of a puzzle was needed to the person piecing it together. 

“Do you like it?”

The voice was softer than before, pushed out on a breath of hope and wonder, the sound making Daichi shiver once again. The hazel eyes flickered in the light of the Edison bulbs as the man leaned farther forward, closer and closer to where Daichi sat, unmoving, the cup still held tightly in his hands. He only stopped moving when his nose was inches from Daichi’s, his hands gripping the sides of the table to steady himself as he placed his full body weight on the table, completely out of his seat now. He blinked once, twice, three times.

Daichi Sawamura was used to staying still.

No, not still in the sense that he never moved, never breathed, never left the comfortable confines of his dad’s old recliner he inherited when he moved out on his own for the first time.

Not still in the literal sense.

Though, in this moment, eyes glued to the eyes too close to his face, his stomach turning over with the heat that only increased, he was still in the literal sense too.

Daichi Sawamura was completely still.

“Yes. I do.” He saw the way his words traveled through the air, lightly tangling in the hair framing the stranger’s face, the strands lifting in the breathy construction of the voice he almost feared he had lost completely. 

“Good.”

Moments in time had become something of an anomaly for Daichi, and when neither of them moved after the last notes of their words had faded into nothing, Daichi didn’t break eye contact. He had a plummeting feeling that looking away or moving in any way would snap the warmth in his stomach in two, and he had grown to like the way it felt. 

The stranger fell back into his chair, the sudden movement startling Daichi though he still didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t breathe. The table jerked as the man landed in his chair, and Daichi was thankful he was holding the cup and hadn’t yet set it down.

“Suga.”

“What?” Daichi knew that one single word had escaped through his lips too many time at this point, but he didn’t care anymore, the warmth in his stomach flickering for a second before continuing to spread through him, like a bonfire threatened by a breeze only to grow bigger as if to prove it couldn't be tamed by something as insignificant as wind. 

“My name. Sugawara Koushi.”

The no-longer-a-stranger leaned forward once again, his one earring swinging forward, a pendulum of angelic light in the darkness of the fall. Daichi watched as it swung back and forth before it stilled against his hair. The man leaned forward, his chin resting in one palm, the other back to swirling around the rim of his mug like before. There was so much movement even though the man still sat in the same chair, so much movement that billowed and echoed around him.

Daichi Sawamura was used to staying still.

“You can call me Suga.”

But Daichi Sawamura suddenly loved the idea of motion.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! No new coffee terms this time, but the latte that Suga gets for Daichi is a hazelnut latte drizzled in honey! If you've never had one, definitely go get one! It's like heaven in a cup! I now have an overarching plan for this story, so here we go! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. See yall next week!


	3. Motion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was more fun this way.
> 
> The not knowing what was going to happen.
> 
> It made life exciting. Filled with motion. Never still.
> 
> So instead of doing the easiest thing, moving out of the way of this man on a mission, he stayed put and braced himself for the impact. 
> 
> Which came with more force than expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Wild I Am](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IbRYfzZjXjQ)  
> And I know that public opinion says to be a realist  
> But if you tame the beast in me, then I would not exist  
> Cause I am wild  
> Wild, wild, I am  
> I always find it hard to ascertain  
> Why it is that I feel this way  
> When my whole life is in disarray  
> The future makes me feel alive  
> I've always known the romantic side  
> Of not knowing where I'll sleep at night  
> I can't stand when my hands are tied  
> My bed the ground, my roof the sky  
> Wild, wild, wild, I am
> 
> Welcome back friends! Shoutout to my pal [@sometimesIwritethings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sometimesIwritethings) for being the absolute best and always hyping me up! They have a fantastic fic up currently and more to come (I've read them, and they're really really good) so go check them out and say hi!

Sugawara Koushi was born in motion.

No, not motion in the sense that he was always moving, never sitting still, never laying in the comfortable confines of his bed, wrapped in the quilt his grandmother made for him when he was born.

Not motion in the literal sense.

No, his motion was in the way he leaned into the spontaneous and unpredictable dance of each day. The way the sun never quite looked the same every morning as it pushed through the big windows of his car, parked in a different location almost every night. The way the birds outside his moving home awoke him, chirping once, twice, three or even ten times as he stretched from his sleep, blinking into the new morning light and the possibility it contained. The way his blankets bunched on the mattress he had made room for in the back of his car, the plethora of pillows strewn around him, far more than he’d ever need but somehow still never enough. A quiet few minutes as he let himself awake with the new dawn before turning on the Bluetooth speaker connected to his phone, dancing by himself in the back of his car, hunched over and all limbs and torso as he woke up each part of his body. The way he meandered into whatever establishment he had parked at, a convenience store, a market, a rest stop, a state park, to brush his teeth and change into fresh clothes, a shower if he was lucky enough to find one, a quick wipe down with a wet towel if he wasn’t.

His motion was in the way he always had a knack of finding the nearest coffee shop without the use of a GPS or map, his own body the only compass he needed, his needle pointing towards freshly roasted beans rather than North like most compasses should. The trickling notes of the new album he found bouncing back and forth between his ears, scratching at his brain and tickling his nose as he made his way to what was North to him, sometimes over the speakers of the car, other times caught between the barrier of headphones if North was within walking or running distance.

His motion was in the way he never knew what the coffee shop would look like, what it would sound like, what it would smell like. The way he always tried to guess in the split second between when he placed his hand on the door (sometimes a handle, other times a knob, sometimes there was nothing at all) and when he entered the new shop, the occasional tinkle of a bell that, though new and different each time, was altogether familiar and known. The way his guess was always slightly off, there was less light here than imagined, jazz instead of acoustic folk, a hint more chamomile lingering in the always warm coffee shop air than he was expecting. The baristas were friendly for the most part, most eager to engage in conversation, especially when he very decisively stated, “Make me your all-time favorite drink.” The way they sometimes tried to pry answers to their questions out of him (“Do you like coffee or tea?” “Hot or iced?” “Is there anything you don’t like.”) and how he always brushed them off with a wave of his hand and a “surprise me. I’ll drink whatever you make me.” He couldn’t blame them, really. They were just trying to make sure he was happy and cared for, and he knew that. The way some of the baristas never pressed further, just started moving with a newfound energy and widened eyes as they dreamed up their favorite drink, an opportunity before them they never got quite enough of.

His motion was in the animated way he talked to the baristas, able to pull even the most sleep-deprived worker out of a haze long enough to laugh at his attempt at a joke. The way he always, without fail, felt like it was a new friend on the other end of the drink being extended towards him, sometimes tentatively, a peace offering, other times with a confidence that rivaled his own, the sparkling of eyes that proved the time and thought and talent and pride poured into his drink. He didn’t always like them, but he drank them anyway, never one to go back on his word, the pride of the baristas enough incentive for him to revel in their creation.

His motion was in the way he never had a plan. The way he sometimes walked right back out of the shop once he had a drink in hand, eager to discover the adventure that awaited him, paint-splattered shoes quickening at the thought. The way he other times chose a table to sit at, always one in the sun, where he sat back and simply watched, hiding his spying behind the cup in his hands. People were amazing, he knew they were. And watching them proved no different. The businessmen with a slightly snippy tone hurrying to a meeting after acquiring their doppio or their redeye, the fatigued mother in need of a few cups of coffee with the overactive child hanging off of everything within reach, the students on their way to school, chatty and boisterous as they sipped their blended drinks and caramel macchiatos. That was the most predictable part of his day. The people. Though unanimously unique in nature, people always followed a pattern, a way of being that, whether born in place or instilled over time, clicked into place in a way that always made sense, like pieces of a puzzle that, upon first glance, looked like they were all from different scenes and paintings, but, after the weight of a steady gaze, always settled into the place they were meant to be, among the inimitableness of the others that surrounded them.

Eventually, he would grow restless and venture out to his car, often grabbing a second coffee and a snack on the way out or a quick packed lunch at a gas station before driving into the unknown, feeling the way his wheels connected with the road beneath him, windows open no matter the weather, destination unknown but altogether exhilarating. He’d drive until his eyes would latch onto something or someone worth painting, something with a story that needed to be told in a way that words couldn’t, and he’d haul out his paints and a canvas and an easel from the set of drawers under his mattress, stuffed amongst all of his clothes and toiletries, no barriers to block them from rolling into everything every time he turned a bit too sharply (which happened often).

His nights were filled with motion, even when he settled into his makeshift bed with sleep-bleared eyes and paint-smeared fingers, pulling up the hand-stitched quilt his grandmother made him when he was born, his feet twitching as sleep finally caught up to his perpetual motion, drifting off under a blanket of stars and clouds and endless sky.

Sugawara Koushi was born in motion.

And he liked it that way.

“Excuse me, but you’re in my seat.”

If Suga hadn’t seen the way the other man ambled from his place at the counter (where Suga had watched the interaction with the two baristas, observing with amusement as the two bumbled and sputtered upon seeing him sitting at the table, much to his enjoyment) with a confidence and sureness that clearly came from countless mornings doing the exact same thing, even with the obvious haze that clouded the man’s eyes, he would have been slightly offended. A headache probably. Suga knew what headaches looked like. Sleeping in the back of a car, while something he would never dream to give up, didn’t come with the most peaceful and relaxing of sleep, and he often found himself in a similar situation before he was able to consume his daily intake of caffeine and bright smiles and friendly conversations.

So Suga had watched him, this bumbling mass of a man, from confused at the way the baristas kept looking behind him to where Suga was sitting, to the knowledgeable stride as the man made his way to where Suga was, despite the fact that his eyes weren’t quite focusing on his surroundings in a way that warranted that type of movement.

It wasn’t hard for Suga to figure out what was happening, and he could have very easily moved out of the way or slid over to the table beside the one he sat at, out of the direct path of the man who very obviously did not know he was there.

But Suga didn’t lean into what was considered easy. He liked to tease the edge of it, tickle it with a hint of indecision before jumping as far away as possible, often plummeting off the edge and falling into the inky black depths of unknown.

It was more fun this way.

The not knowing what was going to happen.

It made life exciting. Filled with motion. Never still.

So instead of doing the easiest thing, moving out of the way of this man on a mission, he stayed put and braced himself for the impact.

Which came with more force than expected.

The words from the man that followed the impact were close enough to what Suga had expected, but the way the latte in the man’s hand splashed over just a bit at the motion and the almost incredulous nature of the man’s tone made it almost impossible for Suga not to giggle, so instead of addressing the man, he chose to face forward, hiding his giggle and twitching lips behind a well-placed hand and rotated body.

“That’s my table.”

The way the man winced at the words made it obvious to Suga that he hadn’t meant them to come out as biting as they had, so Suga relaxed into his drink. This man was harmless.

But maybe he would be fun to toy with.

Just a bit.

It had been a long time since Suga had had the opportunity to unleash just a bit of the sass his mother had tried to train out of him, with failed results, much to her chagrin.

“I don’t see anything saying it’s _your_ table. Did I miss a reservation card or something?”

The man’s latte was the only evidence of his reaction to Suga’s teasing words (other than the way his face twisted just a bit into something that resembled the beginnings of a snarl, though not enough to make Suga nervous) splashing over just a bit more and running down the man’s big hands before dripping to the floor where his feet were planted.

“Careful, you’re making a mess. Don’t want to slip, now do you?”

Suga saw it play out in front of his eyes like a reel of an old silent film. The man’s face contorting and the grip of his fingers on the mug loosening in the same moment, the way the mug started to slip out of his grasp, slowly at first, the friction of his fingers slowing its momentum before crashing directly to the floor. He could have reached out and grabbed it, he really could have, and everything in him screamed to, but that would have been the easy thing.

And he didn’t like doing the easy thing.

The shattering of the mug seemed to snap the man out of his haze, because his gaze traveled from the latte now at his feet to rest directly on Suga’s face, his eyes now no longer unfocused and searching. Instead, they were sharp, intense, making something behind Suga’s ribcage clench as the dark brown irises bore into his own. From the placement of the windows and the angle of the sun making its way into the morning sky, the light hit the man’s eyes in the most perfect way, softening and intensifying them simultaneously, flecks of gold nestled in the rich depths of burnt sienna.

Suga often found his hands tangled in the cool metal of whatever earrings he was wearing when he didn’t know what to do with his hands, a bad habit his mom had tried and failed to drill out of him, and this moment was no different. The man noticed, he could tell, yet he couldn’t stop. The fingers on his other hand twitched with the desire and need to do the same, but he rested them on the edge of his mug, grounding them. The man’s eyes were still moving over him, taking in every flaw and insecurity he had tried to outrun for years. But they always caught up with him, without fail, no matter how far he drove or how quickly he ran.

The man had soft, short hair, darkened to what he originally thought was black, but now obviously a dark brown under the revealing light of the sun. He was broad in every way, strong, his feet set apart in a way that would have looked intimidating had it not been for the soft curves of his face and lips, even behind the slight snarl that had now melted off as the man’s eyes roamed over Suga. His clothes weren’t special in any way, a dark pumpkin sweater and a pair of tan slacks, loafers that were obviously well-loved. Even on the wide shoulders and torso of the man, the sweater looked soft, unassuming.

He wondered what it would feel like under his fingers.

Oh.

Oh no.

“Someone could slip, ya know,” Suga blurted out, cutting off any lingering image or thought of the man’s sweater.

The man’s head shot up, from the shattered mug to Suga’s eyes, no warning before glimmering umber was boring into him. The hand Suga had rested on his mug began to spin around and around the edges, a soft squeaking as his fingerprints ran over the ceramic.

_Don’t blink, don’t blink, don’t-_

“That’s a safety hazard.”

Oh good, the man’s gaze had faltered at the sudden words, giving Suga a quick moment to suck in a breath as the man sputtered. Pointing with his feet in a way he knew was anything but graceful, Suga directed the man’s eyes away from him and towards the floor.

“You dropped your drink. Someone could slip.”

The man sputtered again, Suga’s fingers stopping their rotation on the rim of the mug.

_I need to get away. I need to move. I need to go._

_Run._

_RUN._

“Come on, do your best ‘human wet floor sign’ impersonation and stand over that puddle so no one steps in it. I’ll go get a mop and broom, since you’re obviously incoherent at the moment.”

An excuse to get away, and Suga knew it. But he needed to move away from the man still standing in front of him, looming with his strong shoulders and pumpkin sweater and depth-filled eyes-

But the man whirled to the counter, startling the boisterous barista, who came running over to the table to clean up the latte and shards of mug.

 _Shit_.

The man was staring at him again, which for someone else would have been creepy, but Suga could see behind the man’s eyes, the way he was trying to piece together something about the stranger who had stolen his favorite table. Warmth surrounding his pinky startled Suga, finding he had slipped his finger into the drink in front of him without noticing, a mocha laced with cherry and a hint of peppermint, the favorite creation of the outgoing barista with spiky hair, a surprising combination that was sweet and bold but still strong enough to warrant the sweetness. Suga moved his finger to his mouth to lick the liquid off, but paused once the finger touched his lips. How stupid he would look.

The barista finished cleaning the mess and raced back to the counter, away from the tension now filling the air around them, pushing and pulsing as they once again made eye contact.

“Let me buy you a new drink. Since ya know, you dropped yours.”

_Run. RUN._

“Wh-what?”

“Let me buy you a new one.”

It was too late to run at this point, he’d stupidly offered to buy this man a new drink, and it would be rude to run now, leaving the man standing in front of the empty table like Suga had never been there to begin with, the absence of a drink in his hand the only indication of Suga’s presence.

“I-”

“You make a horrible wet floor sign, you know that, right?”

_Crap. What are you doing? Are you an idiot?_

“I-what?”

Did this man know any other words?

“You didn’t even stand over the mess. You just stood there and froze to the side. Wet floor signs are supposed to, ya know, protect people from a slippery situation. You just stood there and stared at me. Someone could have slipped and I don’t think you would have even noticed.”

The man still didn’t answer, and the silence between them was louder than he had prepared for, louder than the shattering of the mug on the floor that felt like hours ago though he knew it had only been a few minutes.

“You make a horrible wet floor sign. So let me buy you a new drink and you can sit right here at your table and we can discuss how you can do better next time. Call it an evaluation of sorts.”

_NO! What are you doing? You can’t just invite him to sit with you. Run. Go. Now._

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You want your table back, don’t you? I have no clue why when there are so many other empty tables here.” Suga gestured to the open tables in the interior of the cafe. “But for some reason, you want this one. Now, I’ve grown fond of this table in the time that I’ve been sitting here, so this is my proposition. I buy you a new drink, and we share the table. How about that? You have a new drink and your favorite table, and I get to stay here where I’ve already settled.”

There were moments when Suga wished his mother had succeeded in training the sass out of him. Those moments didn’t happen often, usually only spurred on by a stupid comment and a hurt gaze, but he recovered quickly, moving on before he had time to dwell on his mistake. But here, in the confines of this coffee shop, the strange man in front of him, something seemed to glue him to the seat, protesting with the urge inside that always told him to run.

_Stay._

The man placed his bag by the table and his body followed moments behind, sitting. Sitting at Suga’s request.

_Run. Run!_

_Stay._

“What did you have? In your mug? So I can go get you a new one?”

“Oh, just a latte.”

“A man of simple taste, huh?” Suga teased, hoping it would ease the tension in the air around him.

The man smiled, the corners of his eyes creasing as his lips twitched upward. “Yeah, I like to think I’m a simple man. Makes it easy.”

Easy. Easy… Suga never liked easy.

“A simple-natured man of consistency? Wouldn’t it be a shame if someone were to…” he trailed off, enjoying the way the man in front of him started breathing just a bit harder. “...threaten that. Change it up a bit.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I would. You almost spilled your drink on me, after all. And making me buy a new one for you? Now that’s just cruel.”

He was enjoying the way the man squirmed.

“I didn’t make-”

“Now, I wonder what sort of interesting flavor combinations the baristas could figure out. They look like the sort to experiment. And from the way they’ve been watching for the past few minutes, I’m sure they’d loooooove to test some new ones out. Now, no guarantees they’ll be safe, but what’s life without a little bit of life-threatening experimentation?”

“No, please don’t, I’m too young to die. I don’t want to go like this.”

The joking edge of the man’s words caught Suga off guard, something he wasn’t expecting from the man. Unsure how to respond, he instead laughed, covering any hint of insecurity he felt under the watchful eyes of the stranger now sitting at the table with him, stretching up as he stood to create even the slightest bit of distance between their eyes.

The baristas at the counter had been watching them, he knew that, and as he made his way to the counter to replace the drink of the man that made his chest clench every time their eyes connected, he mulled over flavor combinations to distract himself from the image of umber irises seared into the space between his eyes and his brain.

The two baristas agreed eagerly to his plan and immediately set to work making the drink, the short one with bleached hair rejecting his offering of money. Soon a latte was being slid towards him, and he thanked the baristas before turning back to the table.

Everything in him was urging him to run, but this time it was directed in the direction of the table and the man rather than out the door. Resisting, he slowed to a crawl, taking the necessary time to quiet his breathing before he reached the man.

Before he could retreat, Suga dropped the latte in front of the man and sat down, letting the chair envelop him, his chin resting on the arms he had rested on the table.

The man didn’t move. For too long, he just looked at the latte, no indication of anything in him moving to pick up the latte and actually drink it.

Too long.

Suga’s heart rate rose.

“You gonna try it or are you just gonna stare at it all day?”

The man didn’t answer, only rubbed his stomach absentmindedly.

“Go on, try it.”

“It won’t kill me, right?”

“No guarantees,” Suga laughed, the sound breaking the wall of silence between them, bursting past the confines that had tried to stop it.

_No going back now._

He watched as the man finally lifted the mug to his mouth, more tentative than Suga would have been in the same situation. Though he was used to trying new things, branching out into the unknown. He’d chosen a simple drink, a safe one, something unlikely to startle the man. A hazelnut latte drizzled in honey. A barista had given him one, ages ago, and he’d found himself wishing another barista would favor the combination, but he’d been out of luck. And requesting the drink would mean breaking from the neverending motion he had created, a flurry of new drinks and excited baristas and endless possibilities.

And he had to stay in motion.

Right?

The man’s eyes remained locked on his own, the edges of the man’s lips moving into a soft smile as he sipped the drink.

They stayed like that, eyes unmoving, for a few moments in time, the hum and buzz of the coffee shop around them fuzzing into oblivion, nothing more than the white noise of a tv in the background, nothing more than a song through the speakers of a car, the volume turned low enough that you could hear the way the tires connected with the roughness of the road, nothing more than the hum of a bee flitting from flower to flower in new spring air.

This was one of the moments Suga wished he could paint, one of the moments that stuck out to him like a burst of red amongst a sea of black and white, a colorful bird in the monotonous tones of winter, the smile of a little girl in a crowd of stern and stoic parents bustling to continue with their empty existences. His fingers twitched, itching to reach into his bag and retrieve one of his paintbrushes, but they were still in his car, hidden under an invisibility cloak of clothes and toiletries and blankets. These were the moments he lived for, the moments he breathed for. The moments he existed for.

But this one was different.

It was different, this moment, he knew that immediately, even though he was unable to place his finger on the why. He knew it was different like he knew the way he was breathing now was different: scattered, broken on his ribs, absolutely needed in every minute but stuck somewhere between his chest and his mouth.

“Do you like it?”

Suga’s voice was softer than before, no hint of sass or confidence left, and the man in front of him shivered at the sound. The motion was a switch, like a hand flipping on a lightbulb, much like the lights hanging over his head now, and it pulled him up and forward, closer and closer to where the man sat, unmoving, the cup still held tightly in his hands. Suga only stopped moving when his nose was inches from the man’s, close enough to feel the warm lingering breath of the man as he breathed out into the drink, Suga’s hands gripping the sides of the table to steady himself as he placed his full body weight on the table, completely out of his seat now. He blinked once, twice, three times.

Sugawara Koushi was born in motion.

No, not motion in the sense that he was always moving, never sitting still, never laying in the comfortable confines of his bed, wrapped in the quilt his grandmother made for him when he was born.

Not motion in the literal sense.

Though, in this moment, the racing in his ribcage increasing at an exponential rate, the warm eyes making it impossible to blink, he was still for the first time.  
Sugawara Koushi was completely still.

“Yes. I do.” The man’s words tickled Suga’s hair and brushed over his cheekbones before resting in his eyelashes, warm and heavy and altogether welcomed. He blinked against the newfound weight on his eyes.

“Good.”

The words faded out into the warmth of the coffee shop, dissipating into the atoms of the air, in the dust that refused to settle in the glow of the morning light that graced over everything in the room. The man didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t break the eye contact that held Suga in place, his face, his _mouth_ , inches from the stranger.

_Stay._

Startled by the thought, Suga jerked back, snapping whatever had connected him to the man, falling back into the chair with a thud. His bones stilled, echoing slightly from the crushing weight of the word now bouncing between his ears. He didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t breathe.

“Suga.”

“What?”

The man had repeated that word many times, enough that the sound was nothing new to Suga’s ears, but instead of the teasing he would have normally released without hesitation, he let it spread through him, letting the achingly beautiful heat of the word cover him completely, covering him in a way that even his grandmother’s hand-stitched quilt never had before.

“My name. Sugawara Koushi.”

The man was still, unmoving as he blinked slowly at the sound of Suga’s name. Suga could see the man’s mouth part slightly, like he was repeating it to himself, almost subtle enough to escape notice. Suga leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm, feeling the sudden need to be closer, to be connected, to be known. The light-brushed features of the man’s face softened in the warm fall morning glow, bronze and amber and solid. His stillness encapsulated him completely, and for the first time in his life, Suga wanted to touch it, to brush it with his fingertips, to feel the absence of motion.

Sugawara Koushi was born in motion.

“You can call me Suga.”

But Sugawara Koushi suddenly loved the thought of staying still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well well well, would ya look at that. Oblivious boys. I know this chapter is the same thing from Suga's perspective, but from here on out it will go back and forth with no repeating, so no worrying about having the read the same thing twice every time! I wouldn't do that to yall. 
> 
> Coffee terms! A doppio is a double shot of espresso and a red-eye is a cup of coffee with espresso added (for all of you crazy caffeine addicts). The drink that Suga is drinking is something I tried at a coffee shop I went to and it was like the best thing I've ever tasted. It sounds a bit weird but it's magical.


	4. Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He couldn’t blame the man. He was a stranger, nothing more. A stranger who had stolen his precious table and mocked his inability to form coherent thoughts and threatened to poison him with a new drink. 
> 
> He shouldn’t have been surprised.
> 
> In fact, he was surprised the man hadn’t run the opposite direction or snapped or dumped his new steaming hot drink in Suga’s unprotected lap.
> 
> But he just sat there.
> 
> Which was honestly almost worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [More Than You Know](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2YPVdgCRTCQ)  
> I think it's clear to see  
> I'm trying to run away from my own feet  
> If I don't touch the ground  
> There's not a soul on earth that could track me down  
> Cause I've gone astray  
> I disappoint you in a hundred thousand ways  
> That's why I'm on the run  
> Searching for respite from the coward that I've become  
> Why does running away  
> Feel so much like a cage?  
> More than you know I tried my best to let it go  
> Before it took a hold of everything we ever wanted  
> Face fear, run away  
> Doesn't matter in the morning I wake up feeling the same
> 
> HEY HEY HEY friends! Welcome back to another chapter in "I Waited Till the Last Minute to Write This But I'm a Woman of My Word So I Still Finished in Time"
> 
> Oh well. At least I got it done, right? 
> 
> Once again a shoutout to my dude [@sometimesIwritethings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sometimesIwritethings) for always hyping me up, even when I'm having an 'off' day with writing. As always, you rock.
> 
> Now, onto our chaotic boy.

It’s not that Suga was unfamiliar with giving people his name. In fact, he was liberal with it, maybe even too much, throwing it out to every new person he met. The man at the bar that complimented his shirt, the girl on the hike who asked for directions he definitely had no authority to give (but he tried anyway. Being helpful was a form of motion in and of itself. He was a starting block for someone else’s motion, the one to push them out of their hesitancy and into movement, even if it maybe wasn’t the way they intended.), the little kid who approached him while he was painting, in awe at the colors that decorated not only the canvas, but the man in front of it too.

He wasn’t nervous about it. He knew he should be. There were creeps out there, after all, and sometimes a name was all they needed. But he never thought about it in the moment, it wasn’t something that pushed to the front of his head, a voice screaming at him from his frontal lobe, warning him of his too trusting nature.

His mother had warned him too, more times than he could count. When her only son announced that he was moving out to live on the road, she had almost fainted at the thought, the only way to console her was to promise that he would be as safe as possible, taking precautions even if he didn’t feel the need.

A promise which, of course, he hadn’t kept.

He’d tried at the beginning, he really had. He wasn’t one to go back on his word. But days and weeks passed and he found his time exponentially more enjoyable when he was able to bare his full self to the strangers he met. That was the only way to make friends, after all. Even if he only stayed a night, it was something.

His friends always joked that something went wrong when his brain was developing, something mixed up or unformed in the part that was supposed to warn him of dangers, the part that produced fear and caution.

He wasn’t unfamiliar with giving his name. He’d done it with less prompting before, only a few seconds into meeting someone.

So why did he suddenly feel so nervous?

“You can call me Suga.”

It took more power than expected to force the words out, to push them out of his throat and into the warm air of the coffee shop, where they suddenly became visible to others, to the man in front of him.

He sucked in a breath, desperate to fill the void with something other than his lack of courage.

The man was startled at his words, obvious by the way his umber-flecked eyes widened at the sudden proclamation, though his mouth didn’t move to return the offering, his mouth hadn’t moved since he had echoed the name back to himself under heavy breath, almost out of reach of Suga’s ears.

This had been perhaps the longest Suga had gone before gracing someone with his name, and instead of a greeting “hello” or a “my name is” or a “nice to meet you,” he was met with silence.

He didn’t like silence. It was heavy, heavier than words were, even those riding on tones and cadences that skipped over the line of welcoming and into the forbidden territory of aggressive, or catty, or rude. He preferred even those words over silence, because then there was at least something he could touch, some semblance of connection that masked the loneliness that swarmed over his body at the sight of others’ interactions. The quiet intimacy of a light touch on an arm, the vibrant laugh of someone followed immediately by the warm glowing smile of their companion, the effervescent squeal of a child being swept up into the loving arms of family.

His loneliness was a burden. It kept him from the motion his body desired, the motion his body needed. So he preferred to neglect it under fake smiles and breaking through silence.

Because at least then he could forget, if only for a moment.

So when the man in front of him returned his mask of vulnerability with nothing, his chest began to ache and his palms began to sweat and his foot began to bounce, desperate for some sort of motion.

He couldn’t blame the man. He was a stranger, nothing more. A stranger who had stolen his precious table and mocked his inability to form coherent thoughts and threatened to poison him with a new drink.

He shouldn’t have been surprised.

In fact, he was surprised the man hadn’t run the opposite direction or snapped or dumped his new steaming hot drink in Suga’s unprotected lap.

But he just sat there.

Which was honestly almost worse.

Suga’s gaze never left that of the man sitting in front of him, who still hadn’t said anything. But the intensity of Suga’s gaze was clearly fulfilling its intended purpose, and his whole body seemed to be uncomfortable. Someone on the outside looking in may not have noticed the twitching of his hand around his mug, the way his eyes never landed on Suga’s but always slightly above or below, resting on his nose or the space between his eyebrows, how his body shifted in his seat like he couldn’t seem to find a comfortable position.

But Suga noticed.

He was good at that. It’s part of what made him a good painter. He was able to pick up on little ticks and tells a person may not have openly given and was able to translate those into the story he wanted his painting to tell. It’s what drew people to his art, he’d been told. It’s what made people want to buy it, the desire to know and understand the story of the painted figure enough to make people shovel over more money than Suga knew what to do with.

He’d tried doing commissions for a while, and people still asked about them regularly, but Suga found them difficult to do. He painted the people he did because he was drawn to them, because they had a story he wanted to figure out, a story he wanted to tell. It was different when someone was placed before him. They didn’t often have the draw he needed, the draw he wanted, and it was visible in the art he did. Not that anyone else noticed. Sure, maybe they noticed that there was something off about the portrait of their best friend or wife or brother compared to the previous work of Suga’s they had seen, but it was never enough to question it.

But Suga noticed.

So he stopped commissions, letting down the people who asked for them as gently as possible, a whole list of excuses at the ready. He found that the real reason didn’t sit well with people. And instead, he let the subjects of his paintings find him.

He stumbled across them most of the time. An old man sitting on a busy street corner, each wrinkle on his face more story filled than a thousand novels. The little girl hanging off the monkey bars at a nearby park, the only one not running and screaming amidst a crowd of rambunctious children. The woman hiking the mountainous trail, sweaty and streaked with dirt, but a smile on her face that was undeniable.

He knew immediately when he came across a painting subject. It was almost as natural as the way he breathed, every muscle in his body working in perfect harmony with his brain to signal the life inside.

Natural.

Innate.

Beautiful.

How desperately he longed to paint the man sitting across from him.

“Daichi.”

The sudden sound from the man startled Suga, who had almost accepted the idea that he may never know anything about this man other than his affinity for this certain table and his inclination towards plain, unpoisoned lattes.

If Suga had thought about it in the moment, he would have found it humorous, the way their roles were now reversed, the way Suga was now the one sitting in complete silence, the warm baritone of the name covering him like a weighted blanket, enveloping him until he was unable to move. Something that should have made him panic, made him jump up and run, go, fly, anything to remain in motion, the way he needed.

Instead, he melted farther into his seat, the wood worn and soft from the constant presence of a body, reveling in the way the warmth of the name felt on every part of his exposed skin.

“Nice to meet you, Daichi. Is there anything else to go with it, or is it just Daichi?”

He could have slapped himself, and he would later, that’s for sure, but instead, he left the amused lit to his mouth in place, never letting it waver as he forced himself to try not to attempt to suck the words back into his mouth and pretend like they never happened.

The man- no, Daichi… he had a name now- shifted in his seat.

“Just Daichi.”

“Ahhhhh, Just Daichi. That’s a nice name. Has a nice ring to it. Should I call you ‘Just’ or do you prefer ‘Just Daichi?’”

“I-”

Suga couldn’t help but laugh at the confusion that cascaded over Daichi’s face. The poor man. Suga almost felt bad for teasing him.

Almost.

“I’m just messing with you, Just Daichi. It’s fine. You don’t need to tell me your full name, I get it. I do. But I wasn’t teasing when I said it’s a pleasure to meet you. I meant that.”

The tan skin of the man flushed the tiniest bit at Suga’s declaration, and his hands itched to grab his paints.

Cadmium red mixed with a tinge of titanium white and the tiniest bit of phthalo green to twist the red into a more natural color, but not enough to dull it completely.

A symphony of color.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Suga.”

Suga was sure the swatch of his own flush wouldn’t need the green to soften it, especially with the addition of his own name gracing the honey-dipped voice of the man. Suga wished he could bottle the sound of that word, store it in his basket in the back of the car, within reach at every moment to pull out and unscrew, to let the words drip once again over every part of his body when he inevitably moved on from this town and away from the man his eyes were still glued to, never to be seen again.

“So, what do you do, Just Daichi?”

“Do?”

“Yeah. Do. You know? What’s your passion?”

Daichi tilted his head to one side like he was contemplating the words, rolling them around in his mouth like a lozenge before releasing them. “Umm, I write.”

Suga leaned back farther in his chair, the front two legs rising precariously off the floor of the cafe, and his heart launched in the split second he thought he was about to tumble to the ground, a mess of legs and chair and arms, but he kept his face soft, only the quickened beating of his heart to prove of his near-death predicament.

“And what do you write?”

“I just- I just write.”

Suga leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table to settle his body as close to Daichi’s as possible without invading his personal space. “No details, Just Daichi?”

Daichi gulped. “Umm, no. I prefer to keep it personal.”

He could have pushed farther, and normally he would have, but something about the man’s face made Suga pause, a retort and challenge on the tip of his tongue, almost pushing past his lips and escaping into the world. He tried to reign them back in.

“That’s okay. I won’t push you.”

Daichi sighed and his posture visibly softened at Suga’s words. They stared at each other, a few moments too long, before Daichi gulped. “Umm, what do you do, Suga?”

Fingers twirling in the loose hair framing his face, Suga’s smile deepened. “I paint.”

“Paint?”

“Yeah, I paint.”

“What do you paint?”

“I prefer to keep it personal.”

Daichi stiffened once again as his words were repeated back to him, and something almost resembling shame flitted over his face.

_Oh no._

_Crap crap crap crap crap..._

“I’m joking. I just paint. Usually people, sometimes places or animals. But people are my favorite.” The words were out of his mouth as quickly as he could manage, not being able to bear the thought of a second longer passing of Daichi being uncomfortable and thinking he had offended Suga.

Which was kinda cute, not gonna lie.

_Pull yourself together, you idiot. Now is not the time. You don’t have time for this. It’s time to move. You’ve been here too long._

_Go._

_Now._

_Go!_

“Is it your job? Do you make money doing it?”

Maybe the going could wait.

“Yeah, I guess you could call it a job, but I prefer the term ‘life.’ It’s not a job, not really. There’s nothing holding me back from doing what I want, no hours or clock-ins needed. No boss, no coworkers. Just me and my paints and the open road. And sure, I make money doing it. I sell enough of the paintings to keep gas in my car and coffee in my system, but honestly, I’d do it even if I didn’t make a single cent.”

The rising sun was pushing through the window, throwing light with abandon between the two, the rays brushing both of their hands before landing finally on the table, spilling over the edges onto the floor, lapping at the tile where Daichi had dropped his latte, a fleck or two of the splash still visible, unseen by the barista who cleaned it. The light pirouetted in Daichi’s soft eyes, their intensity increasing as he leaned in, closer to where Suga’s face was resting in his palms. His breath was heavy, but not jagged or strained, just there, pushing at his ribcage, his chest rising and falling like a wave on a stormy sea, bashing against the side of a wooden boat, not enough of a threat to cause worry, but strong enough to marvel in its power.

Suga’s fingers twitched.

Oh, how he longed to paint this man.

_There’s no way I’d ever be able to capture the way I see him._

“What about rent? You didn’t mention that at all. Do you live with someone?”

The question, though unsupposing in nature, caught Suga off guard.

“Well, no. Not really. But the most I pay for rent is a pass to sleep in a National Park or paying to use a shower at a stop.”

“But- I’m confused. Forgive me, I don’t want to come across as rude, but do you live somewhere?”

The union of confusion and worry that pitched over Daichi’s face was almost charming.

No, not almost.

It was.

Suga scratched at the exposed skin of his throat, his skin suddenly warm and itchy.

“No, I guess not. Some might call it ‘homeless,’ but I don’t see it like that. I make enough to pay rent, get an apartment somewhere and settle down. But the world is my home. Not a building or a street or a complex. The road is my home, the place I belong, the place I need to be. You may see it as reckless or crazy, and I know it sounds it, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. There’s just always been something in me that aches to move. My mom called it restlessness, but I choose to call it spirit. So no, I don’t live anywhere.”

Suga leaned across the table, his face inches from Daichi’s.

“I live everywhere.”

He relished in the way his proximity made Daichi gulp, and he knew normal societal standards would have told him to back off, that he was too close, that he was too personal for a first meeting.

_To hell with societal standards._

In the two years Suga had been on the road, never once had he stayed in one place more than one night. It threw off his motion, made him restless, quelled his free spirit. Staying more than one night led to stronger connections, to people and places and roads, and connections made it harder to leave when he needed to. So instead he made fleeting impressions, masquerading under the guise of connection.

It was easier this way.

Easier to leave.

To go.

To run.

To _fly._

“I don’t think you’re crazy.”

But maybe he could make an exception tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, friends! This coming week is going to be crazy so I may not have a chapter up on Saturday, but it's coming! In the meantime, feel free to leave a comment with thoughts and questions! My favorite part of this is responding to you guys and knowing your thoughts and theories! (っ◔◡◔)っ ❤
> 
> See ya next time! 
> 
> Peace!


	5. Nausea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “SAWAMURA, ARE YOU IGNORING ME?”
> 
> Familiar arms fell over Daichi’s shoulders from behind, the sudden weight of someone leaning into his back forcing him to lean forward, his stomach now wedged painfully into the edge of the table.
> 
> “I told you not to call me that,” he hissed out, the last few words incoherent as the weight on his back increased and pushed him farther into the table.
> 
> It’s a wonder he had any organs left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Vertigo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oIxNzElm1K4)  
> I don’t need a rescue  
> My escapes are planned  
> My quick draw goes with my steady hand  
> And I would break her walls down just to tell her this  
> Before her there was no answer  
> Now there’s no alternative  
> But sometimes though, I lose my balance  
> My vertigo overpowerin’ and  
> I already love her more than I can stand  
> Trips me up and now I'm falling  
> My vertigo again  
> All my doubts my fear of flying  
> She says “Don’t look down I’m right beside you”  
> Now I’m flying now it’s falling  
> My vertigo again
> 
> Suga: *threatens to poison Daichi*  
> Daichi: "An angel?"
> 
> Welcome back friends! While working on this chapter, I realized I had written 16,000 about a 30-minute span of time and I- This was supposed to be a short fic, maybe 5 or 6 chapters, 20,000 words tops. But here we go, just getting started. I'm sorry! But look! It's moving! Things are happening! Idiots are falling in love! 
> 
> This chapter ended up being a lot longer than planned and I almost split it into two but decided it worked and flowed well as one, so here's my make up for not posting last week.
> 
> A new character is introduced! And the mention of one more!

There was a reason Daichi never gave his last name.

It was the one piece of himself he had the ability to hide from others at will, the only piece of his identity that people didn’t question his reluctance to give.

Because his last name was a puzzle piece, one that clicked in with others to connect who Daichi was and who people saw him to be. Once that piece was in place, there was no removing it, the superglue on the edges unrelenting, no matter how hard he tried to pry the piece away.

There it remained, forever.

So instead he left it unsaid, left the piece of the puzzle most saw as important out of sight, an empty hole left unfilled in the middle of the unfinished portrait, the bridge between the parts of who he was nonexistent.

Most didn’t notice the gap.

Most didn’t look hard enough.

But once his full name was out there, people treated him differently, like suddenly he was a whole new person, something about that one puzzle piece important enough to pick him out among a crowd of others, parade him in front of friends, vying for his attention.

And he preferred to remain unseen, safe in his middle piece lifestyle he had made for himself.

Safe.

Unseen.

Invisible.

“SAWAMURA!”

_Shit._

_Shitshitshitshitshit-_

The name rode on the warm heavy air of the coffee shop, filling every open crack and crevice, snaking like fog into every available stop, wrapping around the Edison bulbs and licking at the walls before finally coming to rest on Daichi.

And on the man sitting across from him.

The man he most definitely hadn’t been staring at this whole time.

Definitely not.

It’s not like he cared what Suga thought.

Right?

The object of Daichi’s infatuation tilted his head the smallest bit as the word hit his ears, pushing past the loose strands of hair framing his face and tiptoeing into his ears before laying to rest in his brain.

Sometimes Daichi wished he wasn’t so good at reading people, at being able to see what they were thinking or how. He could see the pieces of his own puzzle in Suga’s mind begin to fall into place as the name rolled around in Suga’s head. Suga’s lips parted slightly at a realization Daichi couldn’t hear but could see in every atom of the man.

Oh no.

“Wait, Sawamu-”

“SAWAMURA, ARE YOU IGNORING ME?”

Familiar arms fell over Daichi’s shoulders from behind, the sudden weight of someone leaning into his back forcing him to lean forward, his stomach now wedged painfully into the edge of the table.

“I told you not to call me that,” he hissed out, the last few words incoherent as the weight on his back increased and pushed him farther into the table.

It’s a wonder he had any organs left.

“Awwwwww, Daichi, don’t be such a wet blanket. Not letting your best friend call you what he wants? I’m hurt.”

“Kuroo, if you don’t get off me this instant I’m not buying you coffee.”

“Awwww my dealer cutting off my supply? What a tragedy? And here I thought you loved me. No mind, I’ll just charm a free drink out of the cute barista.”

One of the arms disappeared from around Daichi’s shoulder, raised to wave in the direction of the counter.

“Kuroo, leave Kenma alone.”

Daichi could see Kenma’s eye roll from across the shop.

“But Daichi, how am I supposed to make him fall in love with me if I can’t even get him to give me a free drink? Don’t you think that’s the first step?”

“You’ve been coming here every day for the last year to bug me, if he hasn’t fallen for your charms yet, it’s not gonna happen.”

“Oh ho ho, and who’s this? You didn’t tell me I was being replaced. And GASP! Is he in your seat? It’s already too late for me, I have no chance now.”

For the first time since the arms landed over his shoulder, Daichi was suddenly very aware of the man still sitting across from him. A gulp that ended up being more of a wheeze escaped him, and he coughed to try and cover it, but it just made it worse. Suga was staring at him, his big hazel eyes flitting back and forth between Daichi and the owner of the weight on his back and the arms over his shoulder. Suga’s mouth was still parted, his full lips tinged pink as he stared, wordless. Daichi couldn’t tell if it was shock or confusion that flitted across the man’s face.

For the first time that he could remember, Daichi couldn’t read someone.

Suddenly there was a pale hand extended, and one of the arms around him moved to shake it.

“Pleasure to meet you. I’m the one taking your place.”

“Oh, you found a sassy one,” Kuroo chuckled, the laugh blowing and waving through the hair on the top of Daichi’s head.

“I-”

“Stop being a blubbering idiot for once and introduce me.”

Suga had pulled his arm back at this point, and he laughed at Kuroo’s boldness. Daichi couldn’t help but stare as he laughed, his eyes closing completely, the skin around them crinkling in a way that proved laughter was a normal occurrence for the man, his beauty mark almost disappearing into the gleeful creases of his joy. His head was thrown back and his shoulders shook, the rest of his body following, like each part of his body was strung together with an elastic rope, the tension and release of one part sending a shock wave through every part, like a reckless wave in a sea, always in motion, never still, pulled back and forth by the moon in the sky, crashing again and again into the shore, retreating only to come back with equal force.

Suga was an ocean and Daichi was trying not to drown.

“Umm, Kuroo, this is… Suga. Suga, this is my friend, Kuroo.”

“Best friend.”

“Fine. This is my best friend, Kuroo.”

Suga’s hand was back to fiddling with his earring. “Pleasure to meet you, Kuroo. Glad to know that Daichi has someone in his life to keep things interesting.”

Daichi couldn’t see Kuroo’s face, one of his arms still hanging over Daichi’s shoulders, his body still leaning into Daichi.

Goodbye, working intestines.

It was nice knowing ya.

“Pleasure to meet you too, dear Suga. Now, what’s the deal? Why are you in his seat?” A hand appeared on Daichi’s forehead, feeling around. “Are you sick, Dai? Got a fever? That’s the only explanation for this strange phenomenon.”

Daichi slapped away Kuroo’s wandering hand from his face. “I’m fine. I’m not sick.”

Daichi could feel Kuroo’s breath on the side of his face and then in his ear as his friend leaned down, placing his mouth as closely to Daichi’s ear as possible, covering any remaining space from Suga’s view with his hand, blocking the words that dripped from his mouth and flowed directly into Daichi, traversing the barren caverns of his ear canal and finally coming to rest in the crevices of his brain. “Lovesick, maybe?”

Suga’s head tilted at the sudden movement in front of him, the words that propelled Diachi’s actions unknown to him. But suddenly Daichi was falling forward, jerking away from Kuroo, his elbow and chin slamming into the table in one simultaneous motion, tipping the table, and the cup, and Daichi, who fell with a thud to the floor below, disappearing out of sight.

“Oh my gosh, Daichi, are you okay?” Suga choked out between laughs, obviously not caring that Daichi knew he was laughing at his plight.

Even before he knew if Daichi was okay.

He was okay, for the most part. He’d be lucky if the bruise that was already forming on his arm was the only evidence of his tumble, the spot where he collided with the too sharp edge of the wooden table already bleeding purple and blue onto the warm hues of his skin, old calligraphy ink dropped onto worn parchment paper.

Though the pain in both his knees and the growing ache in his butt warned him of the naivety of his hope.

And his chin hurt an awful lot.

He felt it for blood.

“I’m fine,” he said when his hand came away free of any sticky fluid, slapping away Kuroo’s outstretched hand in one motion. “I don’t need your help. You’ve done enough already.”

“Because it’s true, isn’t it?” Kuroo drawled, ducking to avoid the second slap that didn’t have the same force and confidence as the one before.

Daichi was sure his face was bright red, starting at his ears and trickling onto his cheeks before dancing across the rest of his face. He knew from pictures what his embarrassment looked like, and there were moments he wished he’d never been confronted with the image, the picture of his face burned into his mind and pushing forward in his brain when he felt the first tickle of warmth in his ears, the affronting image only increasing the self-consciousness he felt, a catalyst to the impossibly more crimson hue that formed.

But Suga didn’t seem to notice.

And if he did, he didn’t say anything.

Which honestly might have been worse.

Righting himself quickly, Daichi pulled himself back into his seat (well, not “his seat,” that one was still taken by the silver-haired man, but the seat he had been occupying only moments prior) and returned the overturned items to their places, scooping up the flecks of salt that had taken the jolt of the table as an opportunity to escape, dumping them into his now empty latte mug, not wanting to move from the chair to place them in the trash.

A scratching sound from his left turned his head, Kuroo pulling a chair from an adjacent table up to the empty side between Daichi and Suga.

“Kuroo-”

“So, Suga, tell me about yourself.”

Suga leaned back in his chair again. “Well, if you must know, I guess I should tell you.” He positioned his body so it was shrouded in what little shadow there was in the corner, the spot the light from the windows didn’t quite reach. His hair was still haloed in light, the only part bright about him, other than the glint in his narrowed eyes. “I’m a serial killer. I’ve been on the run for weeks. I convince strangers in coffee shops that I’m angelic and then I kill them. I don’t get much out of it, no money or anything, other than the pure joy of seeing life draining out of someone’s eyes as my knife slides across their throat.”

Kuroo stilled beside Daichi.

“But you don’t have to worry. I don’t go for wanna-be bad boys.” Kuroo scoffed. “I prefer handsome and tanned and trusting enough to let a stranger buy him a mystery drink.”

His eyes darted quickly to Daichi, who flinched at the sudden contact. “Daichi, on the other hand, better be careful. He seems to check all the boxes.”

A wicked grin spread across Suga’s face, too quickly for Daichi’s comfort, too quickly for the lingering doubts about Suga’s words being a joke to be comfortable with. “Please don’t kill me.”

“Don’t worry, I would have done it by now if I had wanted to. You’re safe. For the time being.” Suga laughed, the sound dramatic enough to come from a cartoon villain about to release the full extent of his maniacal over-the-top plans to take over the world.

_He’s joking._

_He must be._

_It’s obviously a joke. He wouldn’t-_

_Wait, did he call me handsome?_

Maybe it was possible after all for his blush to get even deeper.

Tipping the chair onto the back to legs with the weight of his body, Suga began to fill in Kuroo on his life, the ebb and flow of his days, his body, his car. The way he never stayed in one place for longer than a night, how he lived off of the paintings he sold, how home was nowhere, home was everywhere.

Home was nowhere.

Home was everywhere.

Daichi couldn’t help but feel sad at the thought.

He kept expecting Suga to stand up, to wish them well, and to walk out of the coffee shop and onto the next location, never to be seen again, but when it hit 10 and Daichi made his way to the counter for his usual mid-morning black coffee, Suga followed behind, ordering one as well, requesting a mug instead of a to-go cup. When Suga drained the last drops of the coffee, Daichi waited for him to return the mug to the dish return, to disappear like a ghost that never existed. But instead, he returned with a fresh cup, a refill and a smile. At lunch, he stole chips off Daichi’s plate whenever Daichi’s turned his head slightly to the side, a failed attempt for his thievery to escape notice.

Daichi found himself looking over to the window or the baristas for a smile more often than usual.

Not that he’d admit that.

Kuroo left after lunch, blowing a kiss at Kenma with less than desirable results before retreating out of the coffee shop for the afternoon.

But Suga stayed.

“So, Daichi Sawamura, huh?”

_Oh. Yeah._

_Crap._

Daich pulled his hand to the back of his neck, scratching absentmindedly at the spot where the little hairs at the base began to curl. “Umm, yeah, about that-”

“And here I was thinking you didn’t have an adventurous bone in your body,” Suga interjected, once again spinning one of his long and slender fingers along the rim of his mug.

Daichi gulped.

“Daichi Sawamura, the world-renowned bestselling novelist who ‘entraps people with his fast-paced adventure stories,’ as the articles and blurbs on the back like to say.”

There was a reason Daichi never gave his last name.

It was the one piece of himself he had the ability to hide from others at will, the only piece of his identity that people didn’t question his reluctance to give.

Because his last name was a puzzle piece, one that clicked in with others to connect who Daichi was and who people saw him to be. Once that piece was in place, there was no removing it, the superglue on the edges unrelenting, no matter how hard he tried to pry the piece away.

There it remained, forever.

So instead he left it unsaid, left the piece of the puzzle most saw as important out of sight, an empty hole left unfilled in the middle of the unfinished portrait, the bridge between the parts of who he was nonexistent.

Most didn’t notice the gap.

Most didn’t look hard enough.

But once his full name was out there, people treated him differently, like suddenly he was a whole new person, something about that one puzzle piece important enough to pick him out among a crowd of others, parade him in front of friends, vying for his attention.

And he preferred to remain unseen, safe in his middle piece lifestyle he had made for himself.

Safe.

Unseen.

Invisible.

Yet here he was, melting under the unrelenting gaze of the man in front of him, anything but invisible.

Maybe being invisible wasn’t something he wanted after all.

If being seen meant staring eye to eye with the silver-haired artist, a gaze and invisible string connecting them, a power he’d never experience, a warmth and a knowing and a lack of safety that was somehow exhilarating.

Comforting.

Maybe being seen wasn’t so bad.

Maybe he’d now find himself craving its warmth, its all-encompassing presence, its glowing hand of tenderness, circumscribing him within the limits of light that softened the edges of everything it touched.

Suga rested his face on his palm, the motion squishing up his cheek in a way that made Daichi’s heart thump and made his heart long to be the one cradling Suga’s cheek, his thumb gracing up till it rested on the beauty mark under Suga’s eye.

“I think I prefer Just Daichi.”

Daichi snapped back from his daydream at the words, his eyes locking with the soft hazel irises in front of him, his cheeks warming without warning.

“I prefer him too.”

The afternoon passed in golden tones, the warm light outside exponentially increased inside the walls of the coffee shop, trapped in every surface and reflected back into the air, thick and airy all at once, a contradiction of soft and bold, playful and firm, earnest and frivolous.

If Daichi had been aware of his thoughts, he would have seen himself comparing the light to the man in front of him.

Soft and bold.

Playful and firm.

Earnest and frivolous.

But Daichi was unaware of the vast expanse of words he would use to describe the man if he were a character in one of Daichi’s books. Daichi would have used pages, whole chapters to sing of the man, yet it still wouldn’t be enough. It never would have been enough.

He could have written down every unique word he’d heard since he was born, every phrase and sentence that entered his ears, words said to him, words about him, conversations he wasn’t supposed to have heard, and it wouldn’t have been enough.

Daichi wasn’t used to running out of words.

It was his job, after all. To take something most found impossible to describe and weave it into something that became palpable to others, something they could touch, they could taste, they could see, they could smell, all with an artfully strung together series of letters. To click all the puzzle pieces into place until a full and unhindered image was visible. It was what he did best.

So why couldn’t he do it now?

He would take pages to describe the way Suga laughed, how it flitted and flew past his ears, how it warmed the coffee shop the way an old space heater would: slowly at first as the coils grew golden and then red, only the small area directly in front of the heater impacted by the power, and then all at once the whole room was suffocating under its life, its warmth threatening and overpowering yet no one moved to turn it off and lose the memory of its warmth, no one daring to remember what it was like before, how it must have been frozen and cold and unwelcoming.

He would take even longer to attempt to narrate the way Suga’s whole body smiled with him, how his shoulders scrunched up into his neck, how his eyes closed completely, how the movement the laugh caused rippled off his body like a wave in a summer ocean, his body a buoy in the perpetual motion of his laughter.

He would take a whole chapter to describe the way it sounded, how it started with an unassuming chuckle before blooming under the nutrients of the sun into something so powerful he could no longer breathe, until nothing but snorts emitted from his small frame, the unexpected power of them causing his laughter to surge into the crashing of a wave big enough on the sandy shore to send children squealing and teens sputtering as it overtook them completely.

His laptop in the bag at his feet remained untouched.

5 o’clock was coming rapidly, too quickly for Daichi’s comfort. He longed to spend forever finding the words to describe the man, but forever ended when he left for the day, leaving the man where he sat.

Daichi was a man of routine, of carefully planned time, of stillness. He liked it that way. It kept things predictable, comfortable. And yet he wished time didn’t exist.

If time didn’t exist, he’d never have to leave.

He checked his watch. 4:47.

“So, Suga, where are you off to today?”

A desperate plea for continued conversation, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

Suga turned towards the window, where the sun was beginning to descend in tinctures of yellow and golden light, the coveted hour of warmth before the nearing fall sunset. “You know, it’s getting kind of late. Maybe it would be better if I stayed here again tonight.”

Daichi’s heart rate increased at the words, though he blamed it on the caffeine. Maybe it was time to cut back.

“But didn’t you say you never stay in the same place twice?”

Suga sighed. “Yeah, but I already wasted the day. This is the longest I’ve ever spent in one place. I was supposed to start a masterpiece today, you know. I woke up this morning with the grand feeling that I was going to find life-changing inspiration today. Yet here I am. And it’s all your fault.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you-”

“Oh well, it’s too late to change what happened. But since it was your fault, you better have a way to make it up to me.”

4:51

“I don’t know-”

“Hmmmm, it would be a shame if I had to eat another round of greasy takeout tonight. I don’t know if my poor stomach could handle it. Have you ever had food poisoning, Daichi? Trust me, it’s an experience you should pray you never have the joy of encountering. And have you seen the weather? It looks like it could snow any minute. My car is gonna be so cold. I don’t know if I have enough blankets to stave it off. What if I froze to death out there? And there’s no one to find me for days, no one to look for my cold and decrepit body. Who knows how long it would take for someone to find me. Alone.”

Suga smirked and shivered with a dramatic flair Daichi knew was fake but couldn’t help but worry about.

The way his heart rate had picked up could have been something he’d consider a medical emergency, the speed if its beating something he’d never experienced in this capacity before. The sound of it echoing in his ears was the only thing he could hear, downing out the idle white noise of the coffee shop, covering the chatter and clanking and motion, muffling the soft mix of life that usually served as the perfect backdrop to writing.

4:53

“Well, umm, I have a couch if you need a place to crash. And… uh… I’m not the best cook, but I can try.”

Suga’s grin slid up to his eyes, his beauty mark disappearing. “Wow, Just Daichi, what a fantastic idea you have there. Thank you for the offer. But I was actually thinking about crashing with the crazy-haired barista from this morning. I got his phone number before he left.”

The nausea from earlier returned to Daichi’s stomach, rolling around and fighting its way up to his throat.

Maybe he had been wrong. Had he misread the intent of Suga’s words?

Maybe he wasn’t as good at reading people as he thought.

“But, ya know, I don’t know if I’d be able to handle all of his ‘hey hey hey’ing for longer than an hour or two. No way I’d be getting any sleep. You know what, maybe I will take you up on your offer. Thank you, Just Daichi, for saving me from a night of torture. I’m sure I’d have nightmares about it.” Suga’s voice dropped to a menacing growl, his words drawn out and exaggerated. “Heeeeey heeeeeeey heeeeeeeeey.”

He laughed, his voice jumping back up to its usual octave. “Nightmarish, right? Imagine waking up in a cold sweat after hearing that in your dreams.”

Daichi’s mouth was open, but no words escaped. Suga reached over the table and rested a finger under Daichi’s jaw, pushing up with the slightest strength to pop Daichi’s jaw back into place. “Careful there, don’t want to catch any bugs. Nutritious, but definitely not delicious. I’d know.”

4:57

“So,” he whispered, finally managing to get the words out, the sickly feeling still lurching around in his stomach. “Are you coming?”

Suga grinned again. “Well if you insist, I supposed I could-”

“It’s raining men, hallelujah, it’s raining men, amen-”

The song coming from the vibrating cell phone in front of Suga cut off his words. Grabbing the phone, he looked at the name on the front before sliding it effortlessly to his ear.

“Tooru, babe, what’s up?”

Suga’s eyes cut over to Daichi after a pause. “Nothing, much.” Another pause. “Of course not.”

Suga rolled his eyes at Daichi as the person on the other side of the phone continued in a barely audible tirade.

_Babe._

_He called the caller babe._

The angry clenching of nausea in his stomach twisted under his skin, the pain almost enough to cause him to double over, to fall onto the wooden surface of the table in front of him. It rose once again until it bound him completely, severing every vein and nerve with its power. It took everything in him not to succumb to the beast tearing him apart from the inside, devouring his stomach, his body, his mind, his bones, until all that remained was his heart, beating in a frenzied motion, exposed and unprotected under the open air the lack of skin and ribcage left.

5:00

Suga said something into the phone but all Daichi could hear was a hum, the pain inside taking control of even his hearing.

Maybe Suga really had poisoned the latte.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Sorry it's a bit of a long chapter.  
> I spent the last week working out the ending for this and now I have a solid plan of what is going to happen and it's pushing me to keep writing! Things are going to get deep starting this next chapter, so prepare yourself! And from there we get the main story going and 'in motion' (*winks*)
> 
> I hope you stick around! As always, comments and kudos are appreciated! It makes me blush to read your comments and I'm continually squealing to myself at them (っ◔◡◔)っ ❤


	6. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suga was at a loss for words, but luckily the turn of a key in a lock and the opening of a door provided the cushion of noise he needed to regain his senses. Daichi dropped Suga’s hand, and he immediately missed the warm presence. 
> 
> “Here we are. It’s not much, but it’s home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Please](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5jM57P3G8p0)  
> I stare at the headlights 'til I get my head right  
> And the dogs stop their howls on the porch  
> My head is an ocean and I'm getting homesick  
> For a place I've never known  
> And I just keep laughing when I'm stuck in traffic  
> At the metaphor I've become  
> Maybe I'm restless, a manic depressive  
> Or maybe I need someone, or maybe not  
> So please just give me something for the pain  
> 'Cause my heart softens to your name  
> And when you're gone I come undone  
> And when you're gone how come I'm weak  
> And I walk wires and I pull teeth  
> And I'm so tired of chasing dreams  
> I need someone to wake me up  
> I need someone to wake me up
> 
> Welcome back friends, to this doozy of a chapter. This is the longest one yet, so get ready. I don't know why I keep doing this, but I can't stop myself. And it's only half of what I wanted to include, but oh well. I guess that just means more for next time! I might have gotten a little carried away.
> 
> Anyway, onto the chapter!

“What the hell are you doing?”

Suga’s soft words were heard by no one but himself, his hands gripping the wheel in front of him, the imprint of the sticking on the leather embedded even farther into his palm.

“You’re an idiot, Sugawara Koushi. You know that? An idiot.”

As much as he desperately wanted to bang his head on the wheel, his eyes remained on the taillights in front of him, the only source of direction. The sun had disappeared, taking hostage the lingering warmth in the air, leaving only the faint light of the autumn moon to dust the earth below and a chill that permeated every part of his car. The heat coming through the vents jetted out puffs of suffocatingly hot air, but the second it mixed with the coolness in the air, it was like it had never existed to begin with, no proof of its short life.

“Koushi. You are the dumbest human being alive. The absolute dumbest.”

The taillights of the car ahead of his clicked on, the rhythmic ticking of the right one indicating the coming turn.

Suga flipped his right turn signal on.

“Idiot. Idiot idiot idiot idiot idiot.”

The car in front of him coasted to a stop at a stoplight. He used the opportunity to smash his head into the steering wheel. The small, staccato beep startled him, and he flushed at the realization that he had hit the horn, the shadowed figure of the driver in front of him briefly turning around at the noise.

“Damn, Koushi, can’t get even dumber than that, can ya? Shoot, he probably thinks I was honking at him. Idiot.”

Suga’s drives were usually much different than this, accompanied by music and snacks and bright sunlight rather than embarrassment and chiding words. That was exactly how he liked it. Filled with sound and life and any recollection of belonging, a semblance of the carefree spirit he displayed so proudly to those he met, the barrier he put up to mask the loneliness beneath the protection of milky skin and freckles.

Droplets of rain dappled the windshield, not enough to warrant turning on the wipers, spaced out just enough that Suga’s view of the road and the front car weren’t blocked. Suga had always found raindrops fascinating: the way they took all the colors of the world around them and swirled them into something resembling infinity, grabbing every viewable part of the universe and holding it in delicate balls no bigger than the head of a pin, small enough to be held on a fingertip but still wild in the way that they never stayed still, running in rivulets down the creases of palms and windows and exposed skin, spurred by the slightest motion, whether by gravity or wind or even the presence of another drop of infinity, never once giving up the colors they held, instead only joining in matrimony with others, an unhindered loop until the drops, larger at the end than at the beginning, seeped into the ground and to the roots of trees and plants and flowers, who feasted off the life of eternity.

Suga wondered if this was how rivers were formed.

He often thought of people as raindrops. Alone they were beautiful, dancing with color and light as they laughed, a kaleidoscopic rainbow of hues too numerous to count, too unique to bottle into paint, though he often wished he had a paint for a soft smile after the first sip of coffee, something he pictured as deep yet iridescent, almost like a river of oil on pavement glimmering in the morning sun after a night of rain. One for the color of the two hands clasped together in the cooling light of the diner as thunder crashed overhead, both hands wrinkled and spotted with years of life and learning and love. One for the color of what it smelled like when the rain parted, the smell of earth that was strong enough to taste on the tip of an eager tongue, exposed by the forgiving innocence of laughter.

The people he met were raindrops, infinity enclosed in skin and bones and blood that pumped and pulsed into a heart that had the inexplicable capability of love. And that’s why, when these miraculous bearers of the universe intertwined like two drops of rain into one, Suga sat back and watched in awe, sometimes daring to pick up the nearest paintbrush, hundreds of colors mixed into oblivion on the palette in front of him in a desperate attempt to create the color of love.

It was different each time. As different and unique as the raindrops that each reflected back divergent parts of the world to weary eyes. Sometimes he could predict what that color would be at first glance, like how he knew the drops on his arm would converge in the cavern of his elbow. But sometimes the color was unpredictable, like the redirected path of a raindrop with a sudden and inexplicable gust of wind.

Other times he was content to just watch, paintbrush untouched with the knowledge that he’d never perfect the color he needed to capture two souls as one.

Yet every time two of these miraculous souls were pulled by gravity into a single stream, no matter if he taunted the notion of trying to capture it in a single color or not, he always felt a pinch in his chest, in the spot ever so slightly to the left, directly under his ribcage.

Suga wondered if this was how rivers were formed. With the convergence of two flasks of infinity.

With love.

Suga wondered what color his river would be.

The car in front of him flicked on it’s left turn signal, and after waiting for a series of cars to pass in the opposite direction, turned into the entrance of the apartment complex. Suga followed closely behind.

The complex was small, smaller than most, only a few buildings scattered over its terrain, trees and bushes and winding stone paths taking up the openings between them. A few street lamps illuminated the area around his car, just enough for one to feel safe under the darkness of night.

He followed the car to a parking spot in front of the farthest-in building, the rows and spots mostly full, the only indication of life other than the yellow lights spilling from the windows in the buildings above him.

Putting his car into park, he leaned back into the soft fabric of the seat, closing his eyes and breathing in, squeezing them even tighter at the sound of a car door closing and the light rap of knuckles on his window. Only when the knuckles rap again did he open them, inhaling as much oxygen as he could before turning to the owner of the knuckles with a plastered on smile.

His mask of a carefree spirit.

His eyes met the soft umber-flecked eyes of the man at the window, ones that creased with a smile as their eyes locked. Pushing open the door released the barrier between them, the smudged glass of the window no longer blurring the image of the man.

“Hey.” Daichi’s voice was soft and subtle, barely visible against the sound of the rain as it picked up on the windshield, plinking at a faster beat.

“Hey,” Suga whispered back, his voice only reaching the ears of Daichi and going no further.

After a few silent moments of stillness, Daichi extended a hand, which Suga grabbed as he pushed himself out of the car and onto the pavement of the parking lot, the skin beneath his vibrating with warmth and life, more so than the vents in his car turned on high.

He quickly let go, on a beat as his second foot landed, desperate to rid himself of the haze and nauseating power the touch held.

But he desperately wanted to hang on too.

The raindrops that stuck to his lashes vignetted the world until all he could focus on was Daichi, and all that he wanted to see was encased in the openings of rain.

“Umm, do you want to grab your things now or come back-”

At his words, the clouds above sighed into the starless night, releasing the rain trapped within their grips onto the earth below, the velocity of their descent and the icy hands of the night hardening them into shards of half-formed ice that melted the second they hit warm skin.

Suga squealed at the unexpected barrage and a sturdy hand grabbed him and pulled him towards the safety of an overhang. He couldn’t see anything other than the strong back in front of him, the pumpkin sweater dotted with melted ice, the shoulders rippling as he ran.

Suga didn’t like not being in control. Being in control made him feel safe. He trusted himself, even in his careless decisions and spontaneous motion. Though unpredictable, it was safe.

Yet even in his blindness, in his naked trust of the hand holding his and directing his path, he had never felt safer.

Soon he was standing under the awning, his hand still encased in Daichi’s even under the security of the overhang.

“I guess your decision was made for you, huh?”

Suga laughed at the amusement in Daichi’s voice. “I guess so.”

Daichi began once again to pull him forward, leading him up two flights of stairs to the top floor of the building. “I’ve got some clothes you can borrow if you want to let me throw yours in the wash. They’re absolutely soaked.”

Suga was at a loss for words, but luckily the turn of a key in a lock and the opening of a door provided the cushion of noise he needed to regain his senses. Daichi dropped Suga’s hand, and he immediately missed the warm presence.

“Here we are. It’s not much, but it’s home.”

The apartment was small, a kitchen connected to a living room and a single door that most likely led to the bedroom. An old wooden dining table was nestled in one corner, the spot where the kitchen opened up into the rest of the apartment, small and obviously not used much, piled with books and papers and knick-knacks. The walls were warm but bare, a framed painting or two decorating the walls of the living room, a couch and loveseat perfectly aligned against the two walls that intersected at the window. A few plants here and there dotted the barren tables, along with marble coasters that looked like they had never been used.

“It’s home,” Daichi had said, yet Suga felt a twinge of sadness looking around at the minimalistic decorations. Yes, it was well spaced and neat, but there was nothing about it that proved someone lived here, other than the mess that was the dining table. There was nothing cozy, nothing lived in, nothing that set it apart from a model set up to show potential tenants.

Home.

A concept Suga had never known.

Home was everywhere.

Home was nowhere.

Daichi seemed nervous, his hands not staying in one single place, but rather flitting around his body, first on the back of his neck, then in his pockets, then gesturing out before tucking neatly behind his back.

“I, uh, there’s a bathroom, umm, back in the bedroom, if you want to take a shower and warm up a bit. I can grab you some clothes to change into if you wanna just drop yours outside the door and I can wash them for you. If you’d like.” The words were coming out fast and flustered, like a train picking up speed in the silence between stations, nothing but farmland and countryside on either side, no towns or cities or roads to stop its momentum.

“But you don’t have to if you don’t want,” he added quickly to the end. “I just thought maybe you’d-”

“I’d love that,” Suga interrupted. “Thank you, Daichi. Truly.”

“If you want to follow me, I can, ugh, grab you some clothes and show you the bathroom.”

Daichi turned and strode to the door that led to the bedroom, not waiting for Suga to reply. Gulping, Suga followed.

Suga had expected the bedroom to follow the same model-home cookie cutter as the rest of the apartment: neat and tidy and perfect. And while the room was tidier than anywhere he’d ever lived, there, scattered around the room and nestled on the floor and decorating the walls, were signs of life.

Clothes draped over the back of a desk chair, clean and uncreased yet discarded, like they had been thrown off after a brief stint of hugging his body, replaced after only a minute by something better. The bed was made but wrinkled, like someone had sat down on it after making it, worn out from the exhaustion of wrestling covers and sheets into place. Empty cups littered the surfaces of everything: the bedside table, the desk, the dresser, catching the light from the lamp Daichi turned on, throwing reflections onto the floor. The room was warm, the walls a cozy dark red, enclosing the space in a way that didn’t feel suffocating, but rather safe and small.

Daichi still had his back turned to Suga and he dug through drawers in the dresser for a shirt and some sweatpants, which he handed over to Suga without looking.

“Here, umm, I don’t know if these will fit, but hopefully they’ll work. The bathroom is over there. Just drop your clothes outside the bathroom door and I’ll come grab them once you’re in the shower. There are spare towels in the cabinet above the toilet. I, umm, I’m gonna go get started on making some food. Is there anything you don’t like?”

Daichi still wasn’t looking at him, his hands still in the dresser drawers as he folded back the clothes he had moved.

Suga didn’t point out that he had folded the same shirt three times.

“Thank you. And no, I’ll eat pretty much anything. Thank you for having me, and feeding me too. You really didn’t need to do that.”

Daichi’s eyes finally raised from the dresser, jumping slightly when he realized his face was inches from Suga’s. “Don’t mention it. As long as you’re not a serial killer, I’m happy to help.”

A sly grin slid up Suga’s face as he clutched the clothes closer to his chest. “And what if I’m just a regular killer, huh? What if you’re my first?”

Daichi paled as he sputtered. “I, uh-”

“I’m joking, Daichi.” Before he could stop himself, his hand was extended and resting on Daichi’s arm, the warmth seeping through the tight-knit of Daichi’s sweater and into his palm, traveling up the muscles in his arm and straight to his nose.

He shivered.

“I, umm,” Suga sputtered, pulling his hand back with a snap. “Seriously, thank you. I mean it.”

A soft smile played on the corners of Daichi’s mouth. “You’re welcome, Suga.”

Before he could make an even bigger fool of himself, Suga hurried to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He sank into the white wood, sliding down till he was squatting on the tile with his back against the door.

“You’re an idiot, Sugawara Koushi. You know that? An idiot. The biggest idiot ever. The idiot to end all idiots.”

The shower was hot, hotter than expected, hotter than any of the showers he used in his travels, the ones at rest stops and campsites. But he savored it, letting the sting of the water loosen up his back muscles and pound into his face, stinging his cheeks red and raw. The shampoo smelled like cinnamon, a mix of wood and spice, and altogether reminiscent of what Suga had always thought a home would smell like. A fire crackling in a fireplace, candles lit and flickering, something baking in a kitchen strewn with flour and sugar and eager mouths.

Home.

Home was a concept that never escaped Suga’s mind, especially when he was alone at night, quiet under the pile of blankets and pillows in the car he had come to know so well over the last few years.

It was something he’d never experienced, but something he’d heard so much about. From friends, from family, from the strangers he met on his travels. The word was usually said in a voice that lingered with wistfulness, sometimes for a home they were on their way back to, sometimes for a home long gone but never forgotten.

But no matter how far away it was, it was always _home_.

Maybe home was like a river. A collection and euphony of kindness and infinity and love.

Home was nowhere.

The sweatpants were too big, to be expected, but he tightened them as much as he could with the drawstring and then rolled them down for good measure till they rested loosely on his hips. The shirt, however, couldn’t be fixed. The worn material flowed to mid-thigh, the neck stretched from what he assumed to be years of use slipping to his shoulder no matter how many times he pulled it back up.

He padded through the bedroom and out into the living area, his steps soft and light. Daichi hadn’t seen him yet, leaned over at the waist and peering into the open fridge, his tongue sticking idly out the side of his mouth as he squinted his eyes at the contents inside. He had changed too, wearing his own pair of sweatpants and a dark green sweatshirt, loose but fitted perfectly, hugging his shoulders and his biceps where the muscle flexed under his intense concentration into the fridge.

Looking up, he jumped at the sight of Suga, his eyes traveling down Suga’s neck to his exposed collarbone, where it lingered for a second too long, before snapping suddenly back to Suga’s face, a soft blush spreading across his cheeks and nose.

“Sorry, I didn’t see you there. How was your shower?”

“It was good. I feel so much better.” Suga moved to peer into the fridge with Daichi, settling directly behind him till he was close enough to feel the warmth radiating off Daichi like the summer snugness of the dithering sun, his face cooled by the air escaping through the open door.

“Wow, looks like my bank account in there.” Suga laughed. “Bare and sad.”

Daichi didn’t move back from his presence like Suga had expected, instead rocking back on his heels till his shoulder brushed Suga’s. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’m not the best cook, and I have a bad habit of burning everything I touch, so I usually stick to take out. I know you were looking forward to a home-cooked meal and not dying from the inevitable food poisoning of another night of takeout, but it looks like we have no choice, unless we want to run to the store.”

Daichi moved to open the curtain to the window. The sleet had turned to snow, the flakes dusting the surface of the balcony Suga hadn’t noticed before, the rest of the world shrouded in the darkness of a starless night. “And I’d rather not go out in that right now.”

Suga chuckled. “So you’ll force some poor, unsuspecting teen out into it instead to bring you your food?”

Daichi’s eyes widened. “That’s not-”

Suga laughed at the guilt that sparked across Daichi’s face. “You’re so easy to mess with, Daichi. This is too much fun.”

He ducked as the pile of takeout menus that previously rested in Daichi’s hand went airborne towards him, laughing as he ran into the living room, Daichi directly behind him, laughing now as well.

Suga didn’t have a plan as he zig-zagged through the furniture of the place, hopping left then right to escape the laughing man on his tail.

He should have planned it, though.

He’d underestimated the angle of his zag, his ankle catching on the edge of the loveseat, the sudden break in momentum enough to pause his motion just long enough for gravity to finally grab at him, pulling his body down into the carpet with a _thud_.

Daichi tried to skid to a halt behind him, but his own momentum hadn’t had time to slow, and Suga huffed as the man’s body landed on top of him. But he was laughing too, uncontrollably this time, the choked out laughter released even more by the presence of the weight on top of him.

Daichi rolled himself off Suga, till they were lying side by side on the floor, turned to face each other. “Suga, I’m so sorry, are you okay? I tried to stop myself, but it was too late.”

Suga’s laughter slowed as his eyes met the warm, welcoming eyes only a few inches from his own, the last remaining dregs of his laughter stirring the air between them, close enough to fan the front parts of Daichi’s hair as they rustled in the force of Suga’s life.

“Hey,” he whispered, scooting his body ever so closer to Daichi, who remained frozen, neither shying away from the closeness nor making any motion to move.

“Hey,” Daichi repeated back, his breath warming the tip of Suga’s nose before fanning out to his lips and cheeks and forehead, already rubbed raw from the heat of the shower. Daichi lifted a hand, hesitating in mid-air before moving to touch the hair that covered Suga’s face, pushing it up with a gentle motion and tucking it behind Suga’s ear. He shivered when the hand brushed the shell of his ear.

The hand hesitated once more, frozen in its motion as Daichi searched Suga’s eyes for any sign of discomfort or unease, but Suga instead reached his own hand out and lightly rested it on Daichi’s jaw. He could hear his breaths echoing through the caverns of his body, restless and nervous and scared, yet unwilling to give in to the fear all at once. He could feel the breath pulsing through the man beside him, the muscles under Daichi’s skin beating in time with Suga’s breaths.

Motion and stillness in unison.

Two raindrops hurtling towards each other at a frightening speed.

Chocolate eyes rested on his as Suga pulled his finger down the ridge of Daichi’s jaw, lingering when jaw met neck.

Daichi’s frozen hand moved back to Suga’s hair, his forefinger and his thumb sliding deftly through the wet strands before moving down and pausing over the cleft of Suga’s collar, right above a freckle that poked out from where the gaping neckline of the shirt bunched around the bones. “Suga, I-”

“MY PAINTS!” Suga jolted up, sending Daichi’s hand flying, his own head slamming into the corner of the loveseat.

“Your what? Wait, Suga, hold on a second.” Daichi struggled to stand up and follow Suga, who was already racing towards the door, throwing it open without a second glance at the swirling snow. Suga ran, barefoot, down the two flights of stairs and into the parking lot, leaving a trail of shoe-less footprints in the accumulating snow.

“SUGA!”

Ignoring Daichi’s call, Suga catapulted himself into the back of his car, pushing up the mattress in the back to pull out boxes of paint. Daichi was close behind, and soon one of the boxes was shoved into his arms.

“Suga, what-”

“No time!” Suga yelled behind him, once again running, this time back in the direction of the apartment. He was back inside its warmth in only a few seconds, clutching the box that contained the contents of the rainbow to his chest.

Daichi closed the door once he made it inside. “Suga-”

“My paints,” he whispered, his voice bordering on a laugh. “They’re water-based, and it’s cold enough to be snowing, which means it’s cold enough to freeze them.”

He deposited the box on the coffee table, Daichi mirroring his action with the box he still had in his own arms.

“I mean, even if they freeze, they’ll thaw eventually, and some people say it doesn’t hurt them at all, but they’re really expensive paints, and I don’t want to risk the texture changing, even just the slightest, and-”

“And they needed to be rescued, right?”

Suga nodded, his eyes crinkling with delight as he took in Daichi’s awestruck face. “Yeah. Rescue was the only option.”

The evening passed much like the afternoon, all too quickly and gone before Suga could blink. He wished he could hold onto this moment, suspend it in time so he could always be here, sitting crisscross on the floor of Daichi’s apartment, a blanket wrapped around his body, takeout containers strewn across the floor in front of them, his foot barely touching Daichi’s, neither of them moving from the contact.

The movie they had chosen played on the tv, but it was nothing more than white noise and flashes of light in the unlit room, the pair too focused on each other to notice the epic before them. Suga’s eyes traced over the gentle slope of Daichi’s nose, the way it wrinkled in delight when Suga made a joke. The way his eyes reflected the light from the screen, the light waxing and waning like the moon over the rise of his cheeks, the spot just above his mouth that turned up.

Suga had never liked stillness.

Stillness was uncomfortable.

Stillness was unsettling.

Stillness was scary.

Vulnerable.

Yet in the stillness of this moment, bathed in the glow of the tv and the lingering taste of food and the smell of the shampoo that felt like home and the feel of Daichi’s knees pushed into his, he had no desire to move.

For the first time in his life, he felt safe.

“Suga, this may be a weird question, but I’ve been thinking about it all night. What do you do with the paints at night?”

Suga leaned back into the couch behind him. “What do you mean?”

“Like, when it gets cold. You said you always sleep in your car, but what about when the temperature drops below freezing? Doesn’t the car get cold? How do you keep them warm.”

“I sleep with them.”

“You what?”

The fire in his cheeks reappeared. “I sleep with them. I pull them under the covers with me and use my body heat to keep them warm.”

The laugh from Daichi caught him off guard, bigger than any of the previous ones, shaking his whole body, starting at his shoulders before working its way through his torso and arms and legs. Daichi fell over onto the carpet from the force of it, sending empty food containers flying as he wheezed.

For once, Suga didn’t laugh. Instead, he watched the way the laugh worked through Daichi’s body, enveloping him completely until he couldn’t remember a time before Daichi had laughed. It was only Daichi, now, Daichi laughing. Daichi no longer stiff with routine and stillness.

He traced over the curves of Daichi in his mind, knowing exactly how he would flick his paintbrush to capture him on a canvas, the colors his mind would know to pick without thinking, an innate knowledge nestled somewhere deep within him. He drew Daichi in his mind, his finger following the motion on the fabric of his leg, embedding the sketch in his pants, in his leg, in his mind.

Everything in him longed the grab the paints from the coffee table beside him, to run back to his car for a fresh and unblemished canvas. Every atom, every fiber of his being burned to carve this image of Daichi into an immortal place, strung into the halls of Olympus for every god and goddess to mourn and cry at its unobtainable beauty.

To encapsulate into infinity.

Sometimes he found himself obsessively wondering, “How do you describe something to a person who is missing a sense?”

It was a natural question in the caverns of his art flooded mind. As natural as the evolution of raindrops to snow, of two people to one.

How would he describe color to someone who couldn’t see? Would he say that violet is the color of soft velvet as it brushed your knees and the wind whipped your hair into your face and you laughed without fear of the sky?

That emerald is the color of your feet as they wandered barefoot through the mossy and forgotten path, a brook babbling happily nearby?

That yellow is the best color because it’s the color of a field of soft wildflowers that yearned to be loved but strong enough to withstand the warmth of the rays that nourished them?

How would he describe music to someone who couldn’t hear? Would he say that this song, this one here, is the sound of a butterfly pausing in flight to land in the crook of your outstretched arm and the gentle wind as it regains its flight?

That this song, this one there, is the sound of crumbs on a plate that reminisce of a time of laughter, the warmth of the oven as it’s cracked open by overeager hands and eyes?

That this song, that one there, is the sound of the tree outside your window that shakes violently in the beating storm but refuses to fall to the earth?

How would he describe scents to someone who couldn’t smell? Would he say that the smell of the earth after it rains is the soft pizzicato of violin strings plucked while the gentle and cool breeze caresses the new blooms on the tree you sit under?

Would he say that the smell of his skin is the summer of 2012 after your mom cleaned your house, when she lit her candles and opened the windows and the warmth of the sun tickled your nose?

Would he say that the gasoline drenched smell of your grandfather's shed is dark city nights illuminated by only the glow of neon signs, the sound of distant car horns muffled by fog and the cold gas station coffee grounds in your cup?

How would you describe love to someone who has never felt it?

How would someone describe love to him?

Would they describe it like this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! They're no longer at the coffeeshop! 22,000 words later and they finally left. Would ya look at that. As always, comments and kudos are incredibly appreciated, as well as any predictions or thought you have! I absolutely adore reading everything you guys write!
> 
> See ya next week!


	7. Loneliness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But still, he couldn’t help but think about how he’d almost pulled the silver-haired stranger forward and-
> 
> And-
> 
> But that’s all he really was, right? A stranger. Daichi didn’t know him, not really. Sure, he’d learned a lot about the man in the last 16 hours, and he’d been shown bits and pieces of the man’s life and his thoughts and what spurred his motion. But there were things that still remained shrouded in uncertainty, things that the man danced around, things he left unsaid, locked up.
> 
> Things that scared Daichi.
> 
> And yet he couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Pictures of Mountains](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3tg3gx5kvao)  
> People are messy and life can get heavy  
> It's easier to keep it online  
> Like checking the weather to see if it's better  
> Instead of just going outside  
> Pretend I'm unaware  
> But the truth is that I'm scared  
> Like dancing a waltz with no partner  
> Nobody's holding your hand  
> Like singing duets as a solo  
> The harmony's just in your head  
> It's almost as if I have been everywhere  
> Almost tasted the food, almost breathed in the air  
> But nobody's heart ever pounded  
> From the feeling of being surrounded by pictures of mountains  
> Everyone's right here on my phone  
> So why do I still feel so alone?
> 
> HEY HEY HEY WELCOME BACK FRIENDS TO ANOTHER EPISODE OF 'I HAVE NO CONTROL OVER MY WRITING AND WRITE 5,000 WORDS ABOUT A FEW MINUTES"
> 
> But anyway, hello! A special shoutout to [sometimesiwritethings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sometimesIwritethings/pseuds/sometimesIwritethings) for being the absolute best hypeman and reading the chapter while I'm still writing it and always leaving hundreds of comments in the Google Docs. You rock! (Also, she wrote an incredibly cute Daisuga oneshot, go check it out!)
> 
> Now, onto the chapter!

Daichi Sawamura liked his routine.

Truly, he did.

It was common knowledge among his close companions.

Sure, Kuroo often gave him crap about it, teasing him endlessly like a best friend would, especially about his self-proclaimed bedtime.

He never missed it.

Never.

He planned his day around it, his nights, his outings.

He knew exactly how long it took to get home from any possible location, how long it took him to settle in for the night, how long it took him to shower and brush his teeth and wash his face. Knowing the exact second he would fall into the bed for the night.

Daichi Sawamura liked his routine.

And he especially liked his bedtime.

Yet here he was, sitting on the uncomfortable floor of his apartment, surrounded by empty takeout containers, a blanket thrown over his shoulders, snow falling outside, knees touching with a man he met earlier that day.

And definitely past his bedtime.

And for some unknown reason, he was okay with that.

They’d talked for hours, under the light of the tv screen, about nothing in particular yet everything all at once, the whole day he had spent talking to this man never enough. There were moments where the talking dwindled into light breaths and faded into silence, but the silence was natural, as natural as breathing. It wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward. It just was.

He found himself memorizing the way the man looked shrouded in darkness, the softened curves of his silhouette highlighted by the mellow light coming from the screen, dusting the highest parts of his face and fading into the shadows in a way that somehow bordered on both bold and gentle.

Suga’s silver hair glittered, the long strands swaying when he laughed, dancing around his face and shoulders, brushing his nose when he turned his head a little too quickly, when he moved a little bit too abruptly.

Daichi could still feel the strands in between his fingers, the soft, silky strands burned into his fingerprints like the heat of a too-hot pan accidentally grasped, a searing memory that burned even after the pan was dropped, a memory that throbbed and pulsed and echoed of the heat still hours later, unsoothed by cool water and ice and cream.

He tried not to let his mind wander to that moment, to the way Suga’s lips had parted slightly as he grazed Daichi’s jaw with his own fingers, how Daichi had used every bit of concentration to keep his breathing in check, his heartbeat from increasing in speed till it tore out of his chest completely. The way Suga’s hair fanned on his face, on his cheek, on the floor, the wet strands darker under the presence of the lingering water. The way his collarbones rose up and down at a rhythm Daichi wanted to follow with his hand, the way the movement had slipped the collar of the shirt just enough to reveal a constellation of freckles on his chest.

How Daichi had almost closed the gap between them. How he’d almost slipped his hand behind Suga’s hair, how he’d almost placed it on Suga’s neck, how he’d almost pulled the silver-haired stranger forward and-

And then the moment had been broken.

If Daichi were to be honest, he was thankful for that.

He had never been one for rash decisions and spontaneous moments. He always prided himself on his ability to fully think through every possible option before acting, how he knew the outcome of every potential decision he would make.

Yet, in a moment of vulnerability, he had almost lost control.

But still, he couldn’t help but think about how he’d almost pulled the silver-haired stranger forward and-

And-

But that’s all he really was, right? A stranger. Daichi didn’t know him, not really. Sure, he’d learned a lot about the man in the last 16 hours, and he’d been shown bits and pieces of the man’s life and his thoughts and what spurred his motion. But there were things that still remained shrouded in uncertainty, things that the man danced around, things he left unsaid, locked up.

Things that scared Daichi.

And yet he couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened.

Suga leaned back into the protruding cushion of the couch, wrapping the woven blanket tighter around his lithe body, his knees pulled up to his chest as he rested his chin on them.

“I know I said I preferred Just Daichi, and I know I promised not to pry into your work life, but there’s just been something I’ve been thinking about all day and I really want to know.” Suga’s eye flicked to his, bouncing the light from the tv over droopy yet alert hazel eyes. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, and I won’t even ask if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Maybe it was the fact that it was past his bedtime, maybe his inhibitions had scattered the second it hit the time he’d normally be asleep, maybe it was the presence of the food weighing in his belly, or maybe it was just the intoxicating presence of the man in his apartment, on his floor, in his space.

In his home.

Maybe that was why he didn’t stiffen at the possibility of the question. Maybe that was why he shifted into a more comfortable position, turning his body to angle it more towards Suga. Maybe that was why he opened himself, why he unfolded, why he loosened. “Go for it.”

“I was just wondering… how do you write all the things you write about? The adventures, the action, the exciting stories. You seem so content in your simple life and you don’t seem like the type to go and experience all the things you write about. So how do you do it? How do you dream up all of these adventures you’ve never been a part of?”

Suga closed his eyes briefly, inhaling and letting it out before locking his gaze on Daichi, his eyes intense and unblinking, taking in everything that flitted across Daichi’s face, every thought that worked its way through his body, through his veins, through his heart.

“How do you write about things you’ve never experienced?”

Daichi was rarely at a loss for words.

He knew how to craft them into sentences, paragraphs, pages, entire novels that people craved like oxygen.

Yet this day, this one special, unique day, he had been more at a loss for them than he ever had before.

And he couldn’t help but stare at the man who had been the catalyst for the loss of the very thing he breathed, the very thing he used to survive.

“I… I honestly don’t really know. These stories, they just come to me. All these things I’ve never experienced, I think writing about them is my way of experiencing them, I guess.”

Suga cocked his head, his hair covering one of his eyes as his mouth twisted with thought. “So all of these stories are just your way of living?”

Daichi felt himself nodding, though his body felt lethargic, heavy, slow, his mind almost completely disconnected from the rest of his body, the signals his brain was sending out hindered, severed. “I guess so.”

“But isn’t that kind of… lonely?”

Daichi had always been good at reading people. Putting the pieces of the puzzle together. And though the question that escaped the man’s lips clawed at his chest and his lungs, squeezing his heart till he had almost forgotten to breathe, he couldn’t look away from Suga, from the way his body seemed to collapse on itself, the way he pulled his knees ever so slightly closer to his chest, the way his knuckles bloomed white from the pressure he applied to his shin, the way his eyes hollowed as he turned his face away to look at the screen for the first time all night, the way his fingers danced on the fabric of his pants, tracing over and over a shape Daichi couldn’t see but was all too familiar to the man.

Lonely.

The word had fallen out of Suga’s mouth like it left a bad taste, sour and bitter and intimate, something he had kept inside so long it coated the inside of his mouth long after he had finally removed it from its place, the same way the burning memory of Suga’s hair had ingrained in Daichi’s fingers.

“Maybe,” Daichi whispered, barely audible over the hum of the tv. “But I guess I’m used to it. It doesn’t hurt as much anymore.”

“Have you ever just wanted to run away and escape it?”

Suga was still facing the tv, avoiding Daichi’s gaze. Frozen. His fingers stilled on the leg of his sweatpants, he didn’t pull his legs up any farther into his body, he didn’t grip the blanket tighter.

“I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it.”

“Would you ever consider it?”

The question caught Daichi off guard. Before today, his answer would have been sure, the single word said with force and passion, no lingering trace of doubt, no time needed to ponder it, to think about the implications of his answer. His answer would have been sure, concrete, set in stone.

Unbreakable.

But maybe the stone he had carved it into was flawed, a single hairline crack running perfectly through it, severing its supposed integrity, significant enough to cause structural damage at the push of a finger.

At the push of the man sitting beside him.

Before today, the answer would have been as simple as “no.”

“I don’t know.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“I guess it scares me, honestly. What you do, how you live, wild and carefree and spontaneous. I don’t think I could do that.”

Suga finally turned to look at him, a glimmer of hope sparking in his eyes, something that wasn’t just a reflection of light from the screen, something pure and unadulterated and-

Something longing.

“I think you could do it. It’s scary, sure. But what isn’t?”

Daichi’s heart was rapidly beating faster, the rhythm thrown off from its usual groove. A line without a hook, an unfinished rhyme, an abrupt halt to the loop of the drums in the back that were unnoticed until they were gone.

“How do you do it? Live like that?” he whispered.

“I guess much like how you write things you’ve never experienced. To live.”

“But isn’t that kind of lonely?”

Suga stilled once again as his words were repeated back to him, the only motion his fingers on his shin as they began to trace the pattern again, something Daichi still couldn’t make out.

“Maybe…”

Daichi pulled his own legs up into his chest, his ankles crossed. “Wow. What a pair we are.”

“Yeah.”

The word was drawn out, like there was something in Suga that tried to pull it back into him, an invisible struggle Daichi couldn’t see.

The silence between them returned, this time fuzzy and filled with static, no longer peaceful and comfortable. Daichi found himself counting the seconds of silence in his head, knowing that science dictated that someone would break eventually, and if he waited just long enough, it would be Suga.

30 seconds.

That’s how long the silence was, how long the absence of sound stretched between them, how long it spent settling in all the crevices and spaces of the room that had just minutes before been filled with laughter and life.

30 seconds.

That’s how long it took Daichi to break.

“Umm, you can sleep in my bed, if you want. I can take the couch, since you’re the guest. I’ll put fresh sheets on it for you.”

Suga didn’t look at him. “No, I can take the couch. It’s already too much that you took me in for the night and fed me. You deserve your bed.” He laughed, the sound forced. “Plus, I’m used to sleeping in a car, remember? The couch will be an upgrade.”

Daichi’s fingers ran along the hem of his pants, suddenly unable to remain still. They were switched, now. Suga under a blanket of stillness, Daichi no longer content with the position he was in.

Restless.

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind.”

Suga nodded, still looking out. “I’m sure.”

“Okay, I’ll, ugh… I’ll grab you some pillows and blankets.”

Using it as an excuse to move, to leave, to slide away from Suga, Daichi pulled himself up, stumbling from the ache of his legs after sitting for so long. He used the wall to guide him to his bedroom, to the closet where he kept the extra blankets, using its study and unmoving structure to keep him upright. His apartment, his home, was solid, safe.

He knew if he let go of the security it provided, he’d fall.

After grabbing the blankets from the closet, he snagged a pillow from his own bed. That was one thing he’d never planned on, though he knew he should have. Sure, he had people over, mostly Kuroo, but he always kicked them out before he went to bed. They never stayed long enough to require a pillow. Even his own parents rented a hotel room when they came to visit.

He hoped it smelled okay.

He couldn’t recall the last time he had washed it.

When he returned to the living room, Suga was still sitting where Daichi had left him, his fingers moving in a constant motion over the sweats, memorizing the weight and passage. Daichi dropped the blankets and pillows on the couch behind Suga, who jumped at the movement, like he hadn’t noticed Daichi until then.

“Here you go. I have an extra toothbrush in the cabinet under the sink for you. Packaged and unused, of course. Umm, let me know if you need anything.”

Suga’s eyes glistened, and he wiped them in a way that indicated to Daichi that he wasn’t supposed to see, so he turned his head to the side. “Thank you, Daichi. I mean it.”

Daichi shifted from foot to foot, suddenly unaware of what to do with his now empty arms. “You’re welcome. Goodnight, Suga.”

“Goodnight, Daichi.”

The bed was too big.

It was warm, the covers pulled tightly around his shoulders, though he knew he’d just find them on the floor in the morning. It was most definitely too big, and he often found himself curled up into a ball on the left side rather than utilizing its expanse of space. But it was familiar, and even when a stray limb found its way onto the unused side, the cold emptiness making him shiver in his sleep, he enjoyed the way it felt.

Yet for some reason, tonight he couldn’t sleep.

Sleep had never been an issue before, his body used to the routine and knowing exactly when to shut off, to disconnect.

It was too dark to make out where the wall met the ceiling, too dark to trace the shadows that often scattered across the ceiling from the light of a passing car. But even with the useless blinds he kept meaning to place a curtain over but never did, the night was dark enough, quiet enough, for no shadows to arise, no light to snake its way into the comfort of the room.

He knew the reason he couldn’t seem to grasp the sleep he needed. He wasn’t dumb. He could feel it pushing at the forefront of his mind, the pressure building until it settled on his limbs and pinned him to the bed.

_“Here you go. I have an extra toothbrush in the cabinet under the sink for you. Packaged and unused, of course. Umm, let me know if you need anything.”_

_Suga’s eyes glistened, and he wiped them in a way that indicated to Daichi that he wasn’t supposed to see, so he turned his head to the side. “Thank you, Daichi. I mean it.”_

_Daichi shifted from foot to foot, suddenly unaware of what to do with his now empty arms. “You’re welcome. Goodnight, Suga.”_

_“Goodnight, Daichi.”_

_A hand grabbed his arm as he turned. “Wait, Daichi.”_

_Suga looked desperate, the longing that had coated him earlier burning in his eyes._

_“Suga-”_

_“Daichi, I-” His voice wavered, threatening to snap if Daichi stepped even a half step away._

_Daichi felt himself pushing into Suga’s grasp._

_“I know this sounds absolutely crazy, and I know I shouldn’t even ask, and I know this is absolutely terrifying and I understand that it’s a lot to ask and honestly I wouldn’t even be upset if you just kicked me out completely after this cause I know I sound crazy and honestly I probably am and-”_

_“Suga,” Daichi whispered, turning towards the man, his body inches from Suga’s, the distance from earlier that had clutched at his chest now diminished._

_“What if…” Suga inhaled, shuddering as he choked on the warm air. “What if you came with me?Just for a bit. To see what the world is like, what living is like.”_

_His feet moved without prompting, only a small step, but even in its limited nature, it was towards Suga, towards the offer that was clinging to Suga’s lips, to his body, to his eyes._

_“Maybe seeing the world will give you inspiration for your book. How can you write about something you’ve never experienced?”_

The bed was too big. It was suffocating, the covers pushing down his body, holding it hostage, capturing him in its security.

What once was warm and inviting was now stifling.

The small apartment stretched wide around him before collapsing in, claustrophobic and tight. He was alone, alone in the emptiness, floating in a white room that stretched farther than he could see, the ground beneath him gone, now nothing more than white infinity.

He was floating but he couldn’t move, trapped in the infinity of nothing.

He knew if he let go of the security it provided, he’d fall.

_“I-”_

_“You don’t have to answer me right away. I know it’s a lot to think about, to process. Take your time. I don’t want to pressure you into something you don’t feel comfortable with.”_

_Comfort._

_Something Daichi had experienced a lot today. The warm surprise latte as it slid into his stomach, the space heater sound of Suga’s laugh, the way Suga sat on the floor with him, like he was meant to be there, like he had always been there. The way Suga’s hair felt in his hand, the questioning but secure look in his eyes as he gazed at Daichi where they lay._

_“Suga…”_

_Suga’s hand slid down his arm from where he had been grasping it, the motion sending a shiver through Daichi as the man’s fingers grazed his own before falling. He desperately wanted to reach out and pull them back till their hands were laced and they couldn’t tell where one ended and the other started._

_Instead, he pushed his hand up, till it brushed the silver strands once more, the touch familiar and safe, the soft silk of them embedded in his mind the same way words were. Suga closed his eyes as Daichi let his hand wander higher, till it brushed the spot under Suga’s eye that Daichi had yearned to touch since the first time he saw the man. Suga’s skin was soft, feather-light, as Daichi stroked his thumb over the ridge of Suga’s cheekbone._

_One of Suga’s hands reached toward his hand, capturing it under his as Daichi stilled its movement. Suga’s other hand moved to rest on the side of Daichi’s face. Daichi could feel the breaths hit the pale hand as he let himself lean into the touch, his skin burning where emptiness became contact._

_Suga’s eyes opened, focused only on Daichi, the hazel irises full of life, of something else Daichi couldn’t quite place._

_His mouth parted slightly, the downward slope of his lips more prominent, the inward bow where they settled into the rest of his face. “Daichi…”_

Daichi turned onto his side, releasing the push of the comforter, scooting along the bed till the upper half of his body rested in the part of the bed that always remained empty, the part he never ventured into. It was cold, bare.

He pulled his legs up into his chest, into the position he’d lived comfortably in for the first nine months, vulnerable. He forced his breathing to still, to quiet until it aligned with the pattern he forced it into.

He knew if he let go of the security it provided, he’d fall.

Suga’s final words rattled in his brain, through his body, through his apartment, covering everything he thought untouchable, secure. Safe.

_“What if we were lonely together?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, ya made it to the end! Thoughts, feelings, emotions? Tell me everything, go scream at me in the comments, it gives me great joy! Next week's chapter will be a little bit different but I think it will be a nice surprise! As always, thanks for reading. 
> 
> Thanks friends! ᕙ(^▿^-ᕙ)


	8. Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kozume Kenma was done with life.
> 
> Really.
> 
> Truly.
> 
> He was done.
> 
> He sighed into the ceramic mug nestled in his hands, the gentle wave of his breath pushing up the steam from the hot coffee into the air, tickling his nose and his cheeks.
> 
> Absolutely done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Deepest Sighs, the Frankest Shadows](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9URhKk22xbM)  
> In a crowd unfamiliar  
> I just wanna touch a familiar face  
> And make friends at the parties I've feared  
> The likes of an age  
> To be wanted with truth  
> And make formidable love  
> See light in myself  
> That I see inside everyone else I know  
> It's not a lacking of spine  
> Nor of physical pulse  
> It's just a feeling of distance  
> Akin to a feeling of loss  
> Of love in the youth  
> Of my limited life  
> That passed in a violent  
> And ritual screwing inside
> 
> HEY HEY HEY FRIENDS! Sorry for the slightly late update, I had no wifi this week. I hope everyone had a safe Thanksgiving (to those of you in the US) and that you have loads to be thankful for! 
> 
> This chapter is a little different than the others, but I hope that's ok! See ya at the bottom!

Kozume Kenma was done with life.

Really.

Truly.

He was done.

He sighed into the ceramic mug nestled in his hands, the gentle wave of his breath pushing up the steam from the hot coffee into the air, tickling his nose and his cheeks.

Absolutely done.

Maybe he shouldn’t have pulled an all-nighter. Maybe that hadn’t been the best idea he’d ever had. But the game he’d been waiting for months to come out had finally dropped yesterday, and he had gone to pick up his pre-order immediately after getting off work, speeding down the town roads and swinging his car around the curves.

He made it in record time.

He knew himself well enough to know that he would play it as long as possible. He knew himself well enough to know that he would stay up all night playing until something or someone caused him to stop.

Kuroo had told him once, leaning up onto the marble of the countertop, a flirtatious smirk nestled on his face (though Kenma thought he looked rather constipated instead, and smiled to himself at the thought), about the first law of motion, something some guy named Newton had coined.

“An object in motion tends to stay in motion unless acted upon by an outside force, and an object at rest tends to stay at rest unless acted upon by an outside force,” Kuroo had said, flicking some of the hair that always covered his eye up, though it had immediately fallen back down. “And you, my dear Kenma, need an outside force sometimes.”

Kuroo had clearly been implying that he could be that outside force for Kenma, someone in his life to pick him up and set him moving, as much as he disliked the thought.

But Kenma preferred the first part, the part about an object remaining in motion.

You see, that was what he was, sitting alone in his dark apartment, his roommate Akaashi sleeping soundly in his room like Kenma knew he was supposed to be. But instead, he was completely focused on his new game, no outside forces to stop his momentum as he barreled toward the finish.

Until his alarm had gone off.

The one set to wake him up for his morning shift at work.

The dreaded outside force.

He hadn’t noticed how tired he was until he leaned back on the counter after dialing in the espresso, starting the batch brew, and putting the morning croissants and scones in the small oven in the back kitchen to bake for the morning open.

“HEY HEY HEY, MORNING KENMA!”

Kenma winced into his cup, sinking further into the counter till it punched his back.

Maybe if he leaned far enough back he’d snap his spine.

At least then he wouldn’t have to deal with Bokuto, who was somehow simultaneously a morning person and a night owl.

Would the hospital let him bring his game?

Probably not.

He sighed again, rubbing his palm into his forehead, the pressure causing no relief for his mounting headache.

The human embodiment of energy in front of him didn’t help either.

“Soooooooo, Kenma, last night I was hanging with Kuroo, right, and we got to thinking, and I noticed that that craziest things happen whenever we’re together, and we laughed about it, but then, you wouldn’t believe it, this guy came up to us on the street, like this real sketchy guy, with gang tattoos all over, and he was big. Like, big, scary dude, bigger than both me and Kuroo, and BUFF, like his muscles were flexing every time he breathed. Well anyway, this guy came up to us, right, and in a real low, growly voice, he was like, ‘Wanna see a magic trick?’ And then you wouldn’t believe it, he reached up to his neck and-”

“Mhmm,” Kenma hummed, having mastered the art of tuning out Bokuto’s stories a long time ago. 

“Bokuto, it’s 7, can you go unlock the door and flip the ‘open’ sign on?”

“You got it!”

The ding of the timer drew Kenma to the kitchen, where the croissants were the perfect golden hue and the scones had risen to the perfect height. He pulled them from the ovens and placed the trays on the cooling rack, right as a loud ding echoed through the shop.

“BRO!”

“BROOOOOOOO!”

Kenma couldn’t stop the eyeroll that had enough force to increase his headache.

The two idiots were back together.

“KENKEN! WHERE ARE YOU?”

“Kuroo, I’ve told you countless times not to call me that,” he huffed as he emerged from the kitchen, purposefully avoiding eye contact with the black-haired annoyance in front of him. 

“Awwwww someone’s grumpy today. Did you get any sleep last night, little kitten? Or did you stay up all night playing video games?”

Kenma growled.

“Looks like the little kitten is in a bad mood. Want me to kiss it and make it better?”

“That’s harassment, Kuroo. I can have you thrown out of here in seconds and banned for life. Don’t try me.”

Kuroo laughed, the cackling sound loud enough to make Kenma wince, and the throbbing behind his forehead protested.

“You’re too loud. I can’t deal with you right now.

“Awwww, but KenKen, don’t you love me?” 

Kenma almost wanted to pour his coffee into the protruding lower lip of the man who was now uncomfortably close to him, seeing just how much of the hot liquid would fit the space there.

But he really didn’t want to waste the coffee.

Instead, he rolled his eyes once more. “Kuroo, don’t you have things to do? You know. Work, bother Daichi?”

Kuroo’s pout increased, Kenma’s self-control holding his hand back from depositing the coffee down Kuroo’s mouth waned. “Yeah, but he hasn’t responded to any of my texts since yesterday. I even tried calling him. Multiple times. And I definitely left scathing voicemails telling him to call me back or I was gonna bother him for the rest of his days and take him out partying every night.”

Kenma slapped away the hand that reached over the counter towards the lid of the cookie jar. “As if. You like to make people think you’re such a party animal, but you’re really just a nerd. Has this ever happened before? I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Nope, never. He’s the type who always just knows when you’re about to message him and already has a response typed up before you even press send. It's scary, sometimes.” Kuroo paused, using the opportunity to try and sneak a cookie once more. “I think he’s dead.”

Kenma followed the movement of Kuroo’s hand out of the corner of his eye, pretending to drink from his cup. The second Kuroo’s hand pulled a cookie out, his focus was completely diverted to his accomplishment, and Kenma slipped his nimble hand into Kuroo’s jacket pocket, emerging with the taller man’s wallet, which he held victoriously, waiting for Kuroo to notice.

“Honestly, he’s probably dead. There’s really no other explanation for it. Oh well, it was good while it lasted. Rest in peace, Daichi Sawamura.” Kuroo placed his hand over his heart, wiping a nonexistent tear from his eye with his other hand, a spray of cookie crumbs descending to decorate Kuroo’s sweater and the counter below.

Kenma pushed a bar towel towards him. 

“Daichi’s dead?”

“Yeah bro, he’s gone. Poof. Dearly departed.”

Bokuto placed his own hand over his heart, mimicking Kuroo’s position. “RIP in peace, Daichi. He was a good man.”

“Bro, you don’t need to say ‘in peace’ if you say RIP.”

“What, why?”

“Cause ‘RIP’ literally stands for ‘rest in peace’ so you’re just saying ‘rest in peace in peace’ you idiot.”

“Well excuse you, but what if I wanted to give him twice as much peace, huh? You ever think about that?”

“You can’t give him peace twice, Bo. It doesn’t work like that.”

“You’re just mad because I thought of it first! I gave him twice as much peace and you didn’t and you’re jealous. Admit it.”

“NEVER!’

Kenma rung up the cookie in Kuroo’s hand, sliding the man’s card out of the wallet and swiping it, dropping some change in the tip jar before printing off the receipt and handing it back to Kuroo along with the wallet, his yellow eyes never once blinking.

“So where is Daichi? It’s nearing his arrival time, isn’t it?”

Kuroo and Bokuto both turned to look at Kenma, confusion creasing their faces. 

“I’m gonna win today. I can feel it.”

“You sure that’s not just the milk you had in your coffee doing weird things to your tummy? I know you’re lactose intolerant.” Kuroo started rubbing circles on Bokuto’s stomach, who laughed at the motion. 

“STOOOOOOOP YOU KNOW I’M TICKLISH!”

“Oh ho ho, ticklish, huh?” Kenma knew the glint in Kuroo’s eyes and pulled the pastry case and cup away from Kuroo just in time for the body that had previously been on the other side of the counter to launch over the surface towards a screeching Bokuto. His leap was not as graceful as Kenma knew Kuroo would like people to think he was, and Kenma smirked at the thought, snapping a discreet photo on his phone.

Bokuto collapsed on the floor with a thud, Kuroo on top of him, but in a flurry, Bokuto righted himself and pinned Kuroo to the tile.

“Stoooooooooop okay okay you win. These floors are nasty, get me OFF!”

“Never! Admit that I’m right! I’m going to win today!”

“Fine, fine, you’re gonna win!”

“And?”

“And you’re the most handsome person I’ve ever met and the most talented and Akaashi is 100% in love with you.”

Bokuto blinked. “Wait, what?”

Seeing Bokuto’s state of shock as an opportunity, Kuroo threw his hips into the air, the movement bucking Bokuto into the counter. Kuroo scrambled up, heaving himself over the counter before Bokuto could grab him and pull him back down.

“Kuroo, leave my coworkers alone. You guys can fight in your free time. And stay on your side of the counter.” 

Kuroo blinked rapidly, sputtering, as the spray from the water bottle hit his face. “Wait, Kenma-”

“Shoo.”

“Fine, if you insist, KenKen.”

Kenma’s fingers tightened on the trigger of the bottle.

“Sorry, sorry, Kenma.”

“Thank you.”

Bokuto’s hand appeared on the counter as he pulled himself off the floor. “Wait, Kuroo, what were you saying about Akaashi?”

“Nothing, nothing. Wow, would you look at the time. Our boy should be arriving any second now.”

“Kuroo, stop trying to change the conversation I already told you, I’m going to win today. Now, about Akaashi-”

Kuroo picked up the cookie he had dropped on the counter, inspecting it for dirt before waving it in the air. “It’s nothing, I don’t know anything.”

Kenma pushed the towel closer to Kuroo, indicating for him to clean up the crumbs he had deposited, and turned towards the shop

The morning sun had fully risen now, creeping through the windows and dancing on the floors, grasping at the legs of chairs and tables. The whole shop was warm, the golden light dusting everything within reach with a yellow hue, something reminiscent of sunflowers in golden hour. These were the moments Kenma loved the most, when the last lingering legs of night faded into the light of morning. Even in his sleep-deprived state, his golden eyes followed the specks of dust that floated in the thick cloak of light peeking through the windows, tripping in under the crack of the door that pushed open, the ding of the bell nothing more than a background note in the song spilling softly through the speakers, something familiar enough that it wasn’t noticed by those who spent the majority of their days listening to its incessant indication of a new customer.

Kenma’s eyes remained on the space under the door, the spot the light divulged freely the presence of a world outside the comfort of the shop. A pair of sneakers emerged from there, their paint-splattered surface momentarily blocking the light that pushed to make itself known. 

Then there was laughter.

His eyes roamed upward to the source of the laugh. It was the man from yesterday, the one with silver and purple hair and an aura that Kenma couldn’t quite place his finger on, but his face was split open with his laughter, softened at the edges as his eyes closed in delight. His yellow sweater was spotted with white stars, the pattern woven tightly into its loose fit, the front tucked haphazardly into his ripped skinny jeans. Kenma’s eyes followed the motion of the man’s body, up the graceful curve of his spine as he leaned his shoulders back to the arm he had outstretched as he walked backwards into the cafe, his laughter increasing as he gazed at something Kenma couldn’t yet see.

Something he wasn’t expecting to see.

Daichi’s arm appeared first, grasped tightly in the grip of the silver-haired man, pulled forwards into the shop as the man in front of him tugged his arm, trying not to walk backward into a table, choosing the face Daichi instead of paying attention for anything that would trip him. 

Daichi’s head appeared next, the upper half of his body angled forward towards the man rather than pulling away and letting his feet lead. And he was-

Kenma blinked.

He was laughing.

Daichi’s own laughs mirrored those of the man pulling him, the creases in the corners of his eyes indicating that they, too, were closed, forced into submission by the boisterous laughter that boomed from his chest as he let the man guide him blindly into the interior of the shop.

In the two years that Kenma had been working in the coffee shop, the two years that he had known Daichi, the two years that Daichi had walked in at exactly the same time every day, Kenma had never once seen him laugh like this.

Sure, he would laugh at Bokuto’s attempts at a joke, would chuckle as Kuroo tried to flirt with Kenma, but never once had one of his laughs taken complete control over his body like it was now.

The laughter that escaped him worked through his body, his muscles, his veins, his limbs loosened and softened by the sound, his shoulders back, not stiff like they usually were. They shook his body, his ears and nose tinged red, something too bold to be only from the cold wind outside. The only part of his body that wasn’t loosened by his laughter was his hand, the one held tightly within the pale hand of the other, the contrast between golden, sturdy skin and something akin to starlight echoed loudly. 

The pair stumbled into the coffee shop, neither of them looking where they were going, the silver-haired man focused completely on Daichi, Daichi’s eyes crinkled in joy.

“What the…”

Kenma nodded once at the words whispered simultaneously by Kuroo and Bokuto on either side of him, unable to tear his eyes from the scene unfolding before him.

Bokuto whipped his head from the pair to the clock above the door, his mouth falling open. Kenma and Kuroo both let their gaze drift to the ticking hands of the clock as well.

As the two made their way clumsily towards the counter, Kenma reached into the pastry case beside him, grabbing blindly inside.

In a single motion, he dropped a scone into Bokuto’s outstretched hand, still frozen in place. The cookie in Kuroo’s hand followed closely behind.

Kenma Kozume was done with life.

Really.

Truly.

He was done.

But as he watched the silver-hair man run backward into a chair, flailing for a single second before Daichi grabbed him with a confidence Kenma had never seen, pulling the man tightly to his chest till the man’s feet righted, the man laughing harder into the knit of Daichi’s sweater, wrapping his lithe arms around Daichi’s back, Kenma wondered if maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as done with the world as he thought he was. 

And he wondered if maybe, just maybe, Daichi had been the one in need of an outside force.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY HEY HEY YOU MADE IT! Hope you had a good journey down here! I mentioned this chapter was slightly different, and I hope it didn't feel too out of place! I wanted to give a bit of an outside perspective as to what was going on in a way that you couldn't see just from the main perspectives. This was originally supposed to be just a few paragraphs at the end of the last chapter, but I'm an overwriter and consistently underestimate my writing, so here we are. 
> 
> As always, let me know your thoughts! Honestly, my favorite part of this is hearing from you guys! Love yall!


	9. Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daichi paled.
> 
> Kuroo laughed.
> 
> “I knew I liked this one,” he said, motioning with his thumb in Suga’s direction. “You got yourself a good one here, Dai.”  
> “He’s not… I’m not…” Daichi sputtered.
> 
> “Are you going to stand there goofing off and continue to block the counter or are you going to order? If it’s the former, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You’re hogging space.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Guiding Light](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K9jmjXDQ5MQ)  
> Relate to my youth  
> Well I'm still in awe of you  
> Discover some new truth  
> That was always wrapped around you  
> But don't just slip away  
> In the night  
> Don't just hurl  
> Your words from on high  
> Well I know I had it all on the line  
> But don't just sit with folded hands and become blind  
> 'Cause even when there is no star in sight  
> You'll always be my only guiding light
> 
> HEY HEY HEY FRIENDS! Welcome back! Did I wait till today to write this chapter? Yes. Did I write it all in just a few hours? Also yes. But look, I did it! Woohoo! 
> 
> And wow, look, a full 24 hours has passed in the fic! And it only took 34,000 words. 
> 
> Whoops.
> 
> Anyway, see you at the bottom!

For the first time in two years, Sugawara Koushi found himself entering the same coffee shop for a second time.

It almost felt the same as it did the day before. The same light sneaking in through the windows and throwing itself in an overdramatic fashion over all the furniture (like he often wished he could do himself, but living in a car made for a less than dramatic over-the-top faint), the same two baristas leaning on the counters, milling around and talking before the morning coffee traffic arrived, the same rich smell that flowed around him, a pleasant mix of vanilla and coffee and wood, much like the shampoo he had used the night before, just as homey and comforting, the same ambient white noise in the background, mixed with the subtle hum of music flowing through the hidden speakers.

And yet, at the same time, it felt entirely different.

He glanced over to the man beside him, the maroon knitted sweater that fit his body in the perfect way, the slight crease in his cheek from where he must have fallen asleep on the pillow, the short hair that fell perfectly without any product and had just been ruffled through after waking up, the soft smile that settled on his face without any weight or hesitation, one that pushed his reddened cheeks up just enough to cause his eyes to squint, the bashful posture as he made his way to the counter and the baristas who all had their eyes focused on the pair, the soft squeak of his loafers on the floor.

Entirely different.

And he thought he might possibly like this better.

“SAWAMURA! WHERE YOU BEEN?”

The man from yesterday with perpetual bedhead threw one of his long arms over Daichi’s shoulder, pulling Daichi towards the bar, an almost suspicious grin on his face. “I thought you were dead, my man. We were ready to send out a search party and call the coroner. Kenma was even trying to figure out the best arrangement of flowers to get for the funeral. I was already thinking about what suit I would wear. I think my charcoal one would be perfect, don’t you think so? It’s close enough to black to prove that I’m in mourning, but still with a bit of flair. What do you think? Or, I could wear that dark green velvet one in your memory. Remember that suit, Sawamura? I bet you’ll never forget it after that night.”

Daichi’s cheeks took on an even ruddier hue, one that Suga mixed in his mind, an alizarin crimson with a drop of phthalo green and maybe a tinge of deep violet to push it farther back into the warmth of his face.

Kuroo turned towards Suga, pulling Daichi with him, his arm never leaving Daichi’s shoulder, instead only gripping tighter as if to prevent him from bolting.

Suga found it honestly rather endearing.

“Poor Dai will never forget that night. Probably the worst and best night of his life, though if you ask him, he probably wouldn’t include it under the ‘best’ category.”

“It was definitely the worst night of my life, Kuroo, and the only reason you think it was the best is because you enjoy watching me make a fool of myself.” Daichi slid his hands up to his face, hiding behind them. “I’m never going to live that night down.”

Suga cocked his head, his gaze darting back and forth between the two men. “What happened that night?”

Kuroo smirked. “Well, you see-”

“You don’t want to know. Don’t listen to a word he says. It’s all entirely untrue, nothing he says is true. It’s all lies, all he does is lie.”

Suga felt the smile tugging at his lips and turned his head even more, focusing his eyes fully on Daichi, who squirmed under his gaze. “Well, my good Daichi, you know what I do for a living, right? I tell stories through a single image. I’m good at reading people, Daichi. And your body language right now is awfully suspicious. Maybe I should get Kuroo to tell me this ‘entirely untrue’ story you seem so adamant about avoiding. I wonder why that is, if it is untrue.”

Suga had been told before how scary his eyes could get when he was threatening something or simply determined, and the way Daichi reacted proved to him that Daichi has noticed. “I wonder if it’s maybe because the story is not as entirely untrue as you would have me believe.”

Daichi paled.

Kuroo laughed.

“I knew I liked this one,” he said, motioning with his thumb in Suga’s direction. “You got yourself a good one here, Dai.”  
“He’s not… I’m not…” Daichi sputtered.

“Are you going to stand there goofing off and continue to block the counter or are you going to order? If it’s the former, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You’re hogging space.”

Daichi relaxed at the welcome interruption of the blond behind the counter. “Sorry, Kenma. My usual, please.”

If it had been anyone else, Suga would have left it alone, let the man order his drink like he always did, but for some reason he couldn’t quite grasp, letting Daichi go back to his normal after the day before was a threat. Like he had pulled Daichi forward into the starting blocks, positioning himself directly behind the man, pushing ever so slightly with his fingertips on the man’s back until the pressure mounted and flowed and Daichi had nowhere to go but forward, his feet slipping off the blocks as he braced himself for the push forward onto the track, into motion.

Letting Daichi go back to the normal he had surrounded himself with, the routine of familiarity he had secured himself in, the false sense of security he had convinced himself it brought, was something Suga couldn’t do.

Letting Daichi go back to the normal he had surrounded himself with was letting Daichi turn around and walk back to the stands he had been plucked from, ignoring the starting block he had moments before been touching, the track looming ahead that promised of freedom, the buzzing sound of the crowd cheering pulsing around him and winding its way through the wind.

Letting Daichi go back to the normal he had surrounded himself with meant Daichi slipping from his fingers, disappearing like everyone had before, once again nothing more than a stranger he had met in a coffee shop, one he would never see again.

Letting Daichi go back to the normal he had surrounded himself with meant that Suga had never been more than a stranger to him as well, nothing more than a fading memory of a ghost that he couldn’t ever fully remember if he had seen or not, something he might think about occasionally but then let his mind convince him it was a dream, a mirage, a fantasy his sleep-deprived mind persuaded him it had created for a moment.

Letting Daichi go back to the normal he had surrounded himself with meant Suga had never existed, that his presence, his gentle push of his fingers, had never done enough to be embedded permanently into the muscle of Daichi’s back, that the question he had dared let escape his lips the night before had never been anything more than a slight push of wind in a reach of space.

Letting Daichi go back to the normal he had surrounded himself with meant slipping back into the cold expanse of road Suga had been tied to for two years, never once looking back at the man he had believed for a foolish second was as much in love with him as he was with the man.

But, then again, he never had been good at love.

Letting Daichi go back to the normal he had surrounded himself with meant letting Daichi go.

Suga’s hands flitted to the hem of his sweatshirt, the echoing pain of not moving a ghost he could never get rid of. Back and forth and back and forth he ran his fingertips, focusing on the way the wool scratched at the caverns that somehow proved he was unique from everyone else, the only thing about him that somehow proved he wasn’t made of smoke and glass.

Maybe fingerprints were like raindrops.

Drops of infinity.

Suga often wondered if rivers were formed with the convergence of two raindrops, two unique sets of fingerprints, two flasks of infinity.

And he had foolishly hoped that the man in front of him was the raindrop that would drift into his, forming a single stream that gravity pulled all at once down the frosted windowpane to the ground below.

He had foolishly hoped that Daichi had been his river.

But that’s all it had been, a foolish hope.

Nothing more,

He felt the tears prick his eyes, his tongue finding its way to the roof of his mouth, desperately pushing up to stop the tears from falling much like the raindrops he so recklessly longed to be a part of.

Daichi’s eyes darted to Suga, though he couldn’t bear to let Daichi’s eyes connect with his. Letting Daichi’s eyes see his meant letting Daichi in.

Maybe it was better if he had never been anything more than a ghost.

“Actually, Kenma, can you make me whatever it is Suga had you make yesterday after I dropped my latte? I don’t know what it was but I really liked it.”

Suga blinked, his lashes catching the tears that had escaped past the barrier he had forced up to stop them. Daichi’s lips turned up as he held Suga in his gaze and Suga felt his own eyes drift up till they landed on Daichi’s.

Daichi’s eyes were warm and familiar, but altogether exciting, the umber flecks he had wanted so desperately to paint the day before lit up under the Edison bulbs above him. As Suga’s eyes finally locked with Daichi’s they brightened even more, the light inside them pushing up a lump in Suga’s throat he couldn’t quite swallow down.

“It was… comforting.”

As the day passed, much quicker than the one before, Suga couldn’t help but feel the lingering dread settle in his stomach and bones, the heaviness of an unanswered question more than anything he had felt before. It rose like bile in his throat when he let his mind wander to its existence, and forcing it back down into his churning stomach choked him from the inside out.

But he did it anyway.

The possibility of an unknown answer was worse than choking.

The possibility of a “no.”

An “I’m sorry but I can’t.”

An “I can’t leave everything behind.”

A “You were crazy to think I’d risk everything for a stranger.”

Suga gulped.

A “You are nothing more than a collection of letters on a single line to me.”

But maybe the not knowing was like acid in his stomach, in his throat, in his mouth, eating away at everything that made up who he was, all the muscles and skin and hair till all that’s left was bones, unprotected and exposed, the acid creeping into every hairline fracture and crevice till those too were gone, burned into an existence that never retreated.

He found himself constantly fidgeting with everything within reach of his wandering hands, everything left unsafe from his anxious thoughts and uncontrollable motion. If Daichi noticed, he didn’t say anything, rather letting his eyes follow the curves and line of Suga’s body, his arms, his hands through the motion they craved, the motion they would suffocate without.

Suga knew he would suffocate if he stopped moving.

Moving kept his body fighting, punching away all the things that threatened to harm him.

Moving kept away loneliness.

And loneliness was suffocating.

Loneliness was an invisible hand hidden somewhere inside him, twisting his insides into knots he couldn’t dream of untangling, knots he knew even his deft and lithe fingers couldn’t pick apart. Loneliness hid them deep within, in the places he couldn’t fit his hand in, places he couldn’t touch, places deep and dark enough that even with the aid of a searchlight, he couldn’t find.

Loneliness was killing him.

He had known it for a while, that all he was doing was running, that nothing that he did, no matter how far he drove or how many strangers he met and painted, that nothing would save him. The inevitability of his death, the loneliness, was hiding around every corner, ready to strike if he let his pace slow to anything less than a sprint, anything less than a full rocket towards something he couldn’t see.

But he’d been running for years, and his pace was beginning to slow and the loneliness he had been fleeing from was instead only gaining speed, fueled and fed by dis desperation, by his tears, the ones he used to be able to hold back but now flowed freely when he sat alone in his car at night, hidden under the quilt his grandma had made him.

Eventually, the loneliness would catch up and he would slow to a halt, to a frozen state he couldn’t fight no matter how hard he tried, how much he screamed at his muscles to work, to run, to _move_.

But stillness was inescapable, predestined from the beginning of time.

Sugawara Koushi was born in motion.

No, not motion in the sense that he was always moving, never sitting still, never laying in the comfortable confines of his bed, wrapped in the quilt his grandmother made for him when he was born.

Not motion in the literal sense.

No, his motion was in the way he leaned into the spontaneous and unpredictable dance of each day. The way the sun never quite looked the same every morning as it pushed through the big windows of his car, parked in a different location almost every night. The way the birds outside his moving home awoke him, chirping once, twice, three or even ten times as he stretched from his sleep, blinking into the new morning light and the possibility it contained. The way his blankets bunched on the mattress he had made room for in the back of his car, the plethora of pillows strewn around him, far more than he’d ever need but somehow still never enough. A quiet few minutes as he let himself awake with the new dawn before turning on the Bluetooth speaker connected to his phone, dancing by himself in the back of his car, hunched over and all limbs and torso as he woke up each part of his body. The way he meandered into whatever establishment he had parked at, a convenience store, a market, a rest stop, a state park, to brush his teeth and change into fresh clothes, a shower if he was lucky enough to find one, a quick wipe down with a wet towel if he wasn’t.

His motion was in the way he always had a knack of finding the nearest coffee shop without the use of a GPS or map, his own body the only compass he needed, his needle pointing towards freshly roasted beans rather than North like most compasses should. The trickling notes of the new album he found bouncing back and forth between his ears, scratching at his brain and tickling his nose as he made his way to what was North to him, sometimes over the speakers of the car, other times caught between the barrier of headphones if North was within walking or running distance.

His motion was in the way he never knew what the coffee shop would look like, what it would sound like, what it would smell like. The way he always tried to guess in the split second between when he placed his hand on the door (sometimes a handle, other times a knob, sometimes there was nothing at all) and when he entered the new shop, the occasional tinkle of a bell that, though new and different each time, was altogether familiar and known. The way his guess was always slightly off, there was less light here than imagined, jazz instead of acoustic folk, a hint more chamomile lingering in the always warm coffee shop air than he was expecting. The baristas were friendly for the most part, most eager to engage in conversation, especially when he very decisively stated, “Make me your all-time favorite drink.” The way they sometimes tried to pry answers to their questions out of him (“Do you like coffee or tea?” “Hot or iced?” “Is there anything you don’t like.”) and how he always brushed them off with a wave of his hand and a “surprise me. I’ll drink whatever you make me.” He couldn’t blame them, really. They were just trying to make sure he was happy and cared for, and he knew that. The way some of the baristas never pressed further, just started moving with a newfound energy and widened eyes as they dreamed up their favorite drink, an opportunity before them they never got quite enough of.

His motion was in the animated way he talked to the baristas, able to pull even the most sleep-deprived worker out of a haze long enough to laugh at his attempt at a joke. The way he always, without fail, felt like it was a new friend on the other end of the drink being extended towards him, sometimes tentatively, a peace offering, other times with a confidence that rivaled his own, the sparkling of eyes that proved the time and thought and talent and pride poured into his drink. He didn’t always like them, but he drank them anyway, never one to go back on his word, the pride of the baristas enough incentive for him to revel in their creation.

His motion was in the way he never had a plan. The way he sometimes walked right back out of the shop once he had a drink in hand, eager to discover the adventure that awaited him, paint-splattered shoes quickening at the thought. The way he other times chose a table to sit at, always one in the sun, where he sat back and simply watched, hiding his spying behind the cup in his hands. People were amazing, he knew they were. And watching them proved no different. The businessmen with a slightly snippy tone hurrying to a meeting after acquiring their doppio or their redeye, the fatigued mother in need of a few cups of coffee with the overactive child hanging off of everything within reach, the students on their way to school, chatty and boisterous as they sipped their blended drinks and caramel macchiatos. That was the most predictable part of his day. The people. Though unanimously unique in nature, people always followed a pattern, a way of being that, whether born in place or instilled over time, clicked into place in a way that always made sense, like pieces of a puzzle that, upon first glance, looked like they were all from different scenes and paintings, but, after the weight of a steady gaze, always settled into the place they were meant to be, among the inimitableness of the others that surrounded them.

Eventually, he would grow restless and venture out to his car, often grabbing a second coffee and a snack on the way out or a quick packed lunch at a gas station before driving into the unknown, feeling the way his wheels connected with the road beneath him, windows open no matter the weather, destination unknown but altogether exhilarating. He’d drive until his eyes would latch onto something or someone worth painting, something with a story that needed to be told in a way that words couldn’t, and he’d haul out his paints and a canvas and an easel from the set of drawers under his mattress, stuffed amongst all of his clothes and toiletries, no barriers to block them from rolling into everything every time he turned a bit too sharply (which happened often).

His nights were filled with motion, even when he settled into his makeshift bed with sleep-bleared eyes and paint-smeared fingers, pulling up the hand-stitched quilt his grandmother made him when he was born, his feet twitching as sleep finally caught up to his perpetual motion, drifting off under a blanket of stars and clouds and endless sky.

Sugawara Koushi was born in motion.

And he liked it that way.

He did.

Didn’t he?

No, he thought, shaking his head slightly, feeling the purple-dyed tips of his hair brush the rise of his cheeks, a poor replacement for the hand that had rested there the night before.

He didn’t.

Stillness was inescapable, predestined from the beginning of time.

All he was doing was prolonging it, hiding farther and farther from it till it had become something to be feared, something that would kill him.

Something that cradled loneliness in its outstretched palms.

But maybe he had made it this way. Maybe stillness had never been something to fear, but rather something gentle that would let his tears fall like raindrops to the ground below, something that would hold him in an all-encompassing embrace, something that would become the framework for what would shield him in warmth and release and safety.

Maybe he had been the one who had turned it into the monster it was now, the threat it had become.

It was his own fault, his own self-destructive nature.

He could never escape himself.

“Suga, about last night…”

Suffocating. He was suffocating.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me, forget everything I said, I don’t know-”

“Suga.”

He couldn’t look up. He couldn’t.

_“What if we were lonely together?”_

How stupid he had been. How foolish to think that Daichi would ever be anything more than a stranger he met in a coffee shop, a kind-hearted soul who had given him a place to stay when the air became cold enough for raindrops to turn to snow.

How stupid he had been.

How foolish to believe he would ever be anything to Daichi.

He was nothing.

The loneliness in his stomach twisted, cackling gleefully as it wove another untangleable knot in the recesses of his heart.

He would never be anything more than nothing.

Suffocating.

“Daichi, I-”

“Suga, look at me.”

The unexpected force in Daichi’s demand forced his head up, his eyes snapping into contact with the warm ones in front of him.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot since you asked, I mean, pretty much every second if I’m being honest. I didn’t sleep much either, I just thought. And I think… I think…”

His whole life he had equated loneliness to stillness. They walked hand in hand, arm in arm, synchronized in steps, in pattern, in path. Where one was, the other was also.

Stillness was giving up. Settling in the loneliness. Letting it take hold.

Loneliness was inescapable, predestined from the beginning of time.

But maybe he had been wrong.

“I think… I’d like it if we were lonely together. To be lonely with you.”

Maybe stillness meant being loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I high-key projected onto Suga this chapter, oops. But wow, look at that, our babies are taking their first steps into the wild scary world. 
> 
> Anyone have any theories as to what happened the night that Kuroo wore the velvet suit? Send em all my way! And as always, reading the comments is always my very favorite part of this!
> 
> Yall rock my socks!


	10. Emptiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suga stuck out his lower lip. “Awww is Daichi really that weak? Is wittle baby Daichi just so helpless he can’t carry a single bag and needs big strong Suga to help him?”
> 
> Daichi grunted as he swung the bag up onto his shoulder once again, immediately feeling it begin to slip down. “I don’t appreciate the baby voice, I’m not a child.”
> 
> Suga grinned, the light from the lamp reflecting off his perfect, white teeth. “Well, you sure act like one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Truly Madly Deeply](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4qAzO8FbHn4)  
> I wanna stand with you on a mountain  
> I wanna bathe with you in the sea  
> I wanna lay like this forever  
> Until the sky falls down on me  
> And when the stars are shining brightly in the velvet sky  
> I'll make a wish send it to heaven and make me want to cry  
> The tears of joy for all the pleasure and the certainty  
> That we're surrounded by the comfort and protection  
> Of the highest power in lonely hours  
> The tears devour you
> 
> HEY HEY HEY FRIENDS! WELCOME BACK TO THIS WEEKS CHAPTER!
> 
> Before we start, if you didn't see [sometimesiwritethings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sometimesIwritethings) literal essay (with MLA references) on the chapter before, please go check it out. She made a joke in the google doc when she was reading through the chapter for me that she was gonna do it, but I didn't think she was serious. But she did, she wrote an actual essay, and it's incredible and everyone needs to read it!
> 
> Anyway, onto the chapter! See you at the bottom!

Daichi Sawamura was not a stupid man.

Not at all.

In fact, some might say his intelligence was above average.

He’d done well in school, succeeded even, his school career filled with medals and awards and honors and the eternal praise of teachers.

He was a writer, a poet, capable of cleverly crafting stories and worlds and characters, and that had to mean he had at least some intelligence nestled in his bones.

Didn’t it?

So then why was he possibly about to do the dumbest thing any human could dream of?

“You’re an idiot, Daichi. A full-blown idiot,” he muttered to himself, hoisting the over-stuffed duffle bag over his shoulder with a grunt, the weight of his belongings catching him off guard.

Since when had he had so many things?

He prided himself on being minimalistic, a “bare essentials” type guy, yet there were moments like this when he seriously questioned his self-appointed view of himself.

Maybe he wasn’t as minimalistic as he thought he was.

“It’s just homey, that’s all,” he tried to convince himself. “I could leave everything if I needed to. I could do it.”

No one who knew him would believe the words he told himself.

He didn’t believe them either.

Maybe he wasn’t as smart as he thought he was.

Smart and minimalistic sounded like a nice combination of traits, something people aspired to be and would applaud him for. It was something he had always been, something he would always be, something that was an innate trait somewhere deep inside him, something people could try to mirror and follow but would eventually fall away from. He was smart. He was minimalistic.

And all it had taken to shatter that image was a silver-haired stranger.

“I’m an idiot.”

When had his bag gotten so heavy?

When had he gotten so weak?

“Daichi!”

The sing-song voice carried over the expanse of the apartment parking lot, mixing and combining with the last lingering flakes of snow that made their final descent to earth, dusting the exposed places where feet and tires and animals had moved, covering any remaining traces of life in the now darkening sky. If he hadn’t been able to see the owner of the voice from where he marched across the parking lot towards the sticker-covered car, he would have thought it a trick of the wind, a tunnel of air and snow that hummed and wrapped around him, something the sky above had sent down as a song to souls lost in the woods, a reminder that he had never been in charge.

A ghost.

The light cascading from the lamppost above Suga dusted the top of his head with warmth, shimmering in his hair as the flakes gathered, white against silver, the high points of his face paled under the light, contrasting in the dark like the moon in the ebony fall sky.

But ghosts weren’t real. At least, not that Daichi knew of. They’d always been things joked about around campfires, in dusty old buildings, supernatural beings blamed for things not easily explained.

Suga wasn’t a ghost.

Ghosts weren’t real. They didn’t laugh in a way that made Daichi’s face flush, they didn’t warm his skin through his clothing with the gentlest touch of a hand, they didn’t grasp cups of coffee like it was a lifeline.

Daichi was smart. He knew how to separate the fictional from the real, the real world from the made up stories he was surrounded by every day.

Ghosts weren’t real.

But maybe Daichi wasn’t as smart as he thought he was.

Because there was no natural way to describe the man in front of him, no science or common sense that could explain the presence that filled every space it entered completely, the milky skin, the eyes that were almost translucent under golden light, the way that he felt when the man looked at him.

Sugawara Koushi was something supernatural.

Daichi was convinced of it.

Maybe ghosts weren’t real, maybe his mind had gotten ahead of him.

Maybe he wasn’t a ghost.

Ghosts weren’t real.

But what if angels were?

“Daichi! Stop dragging your feet and hurry up! It’s getting cold out here. I’m gonna freeze to death and it’s gonna be your fault!”

Ok, maybe not an angel.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, calm yourself.”

“If you were moving at a reasonable pace I wouldn’t have the need to ‘calm myself.’”

“Oh yeah? Then why don’t you come over here and help me.”

Suga stuck out his lower lip. “Awww is Daichi really that weak? Is wittle baby Daichi just so helpless he can’t carry a single bag and needs big strong Suga to help him?”

Daichi grunted as he swung the bag up onto his shoulder once again, immediately feeling it begin to slip down. “I don’t appreciate the baby voice, I’m not a child.”

Suga grinned, the light from the lamp reflecting off his perfect, white teeth. “Well, you sure act like one.”

Definitely not an angel.

“Okay, that’s it.”

Dropping the bag to the ground, Daichi bolted towards Suga, who squealed before taking off across the parking lot, utilizing the lanky nature of his body to weave between the parked cars without slowing, somehow knowing that while Daichi was strong (well, strong most of the time, this bag was an exception), he wasn’t swift or fast enough to keep up around the tight corners and curves.

But Daichi wasn’t a stupid man.

The snowball shattered on the side of the car Suga was whipping around, inches from his chest. Daichi had a split moment of panic over hitting someone else’s car, but then suddenly there was a white ball hurtling towards him at an astonishing speed.

The surprise worked to slow Daichi’s reflexes and the snowball exploded on his left shoulder with a hearty _thwump._

Oh, it was on.

Suga’s laughter was cut short as a snowball hit him directly in the chest, and he took off again, using the cars and bushes as a shield to hide from the barrage of half-formed snowballs descending around him.

Daichi didn’t have time to make sure the snowballs were solid, perfect balls, all he could do was hurl them in the hopes that they’d stay together long enough to not break apart mid-air, long enough to hit the cocky man mostly unsuccessfully dodging them.

Suga was still running through cars, only the top of his head visible as he bobbed between them, flying between the openings at lightning speed, too quick for Daichi to hit him.

But Daichi was a smart man. Or, at least he believed himself to be.

He took his time forming the new snowball, packing it with frozen fingers, smoothing out the edges until it was perfectly circular, the snow packed and tight and close, no worries about it disintegrating into the air when it was thrown.

This one needed to be perfect.

His eyes scanned the parking lot, the speed of Suga’s movement, the amount of time he was exposed between the shields of the cars.

He had long since lost the slight tinge of guilt about hitting someone else’s car.

The head of silver hair ducked behind a dark car. One, two, three, Daichi whispered to himself, the three seconds he waited stretched into an infinity. He whipped his arm back, the few years he spent pitching in baseball in his youth flooding back, fizzling like electricity in his arms, his veins, his muscles, and he let go.

His calculations had been perfect. He knew it. The arched through the air, curving back down towards the ground as the top of Suga’s head came into view, the rest of his body following as he emerged at a sprint from behind the car, unaware of the snowball targeted like a missile directly at him.

Suga’s eyes flicked towards Daichi and widened in panic when they found the white object, knowing he wouldn’t have enough time to jump to the side or duck as it accelerated towards him at a speed only possible from someone who used to throw baseballs with the intent of not giving the batter time to react.

It was perfect.

Daichi’s eyes followed the snowball, his mind still calculating.

His eyes widened

Oh no.

It hadn’t been perfect.

His calculations had been wrong.

So very wrong.

The snowball was too high.

Shit.

“SUG-”

_TWAP_

The split second the snowball collided with Suga’s face, Daichi’s words failed him, his mouth no longer able to form a coherent word or sound, just a strained gurgle as he took off towards Suga, knowing it was too late. The sickening sound of the snowball making contact with skull rung out in the open air around him.

Suga didn’t have time to react.

He’d never had a chance.

He dropped, the explosion of snow around him doing nothing to cradle his fall.

Daichi couldn’t see where he had fallen, where he had connected with the ground, somewhere behind the car he had emerged from, but the sound of a body hitting the pavement, though blanketed by snow, twisted in his gut, pushing up into his throat as he fought not to throw up.

Suga…

SUGA.

He was already crying as he ran to where Suga had been just moments before, the place he had suddenly ceased to exist.

All because of Daichi.

_All because of me._

He skidded around the snowbanks formed by plows and the tires of cars coming and going, his feet slipping on the slippery surface of asphalt.

“SUGA!”

He catapulted himself over one of the banks, not noticing when his foot didn’t make it and plunged into its icy grasp. He didn’t notice as his fingers numbed from the biting wind. He didn’t notice as his feet slipped with every step.

All he cared about was Suga.

Rounding the hood of the car Suga had dropped like a dead weight behind, he fumbled for something to hold onto to slow his momentum and stop him from falling.

“Suga?”

Before he could blink, two hands latched onto his coat, one on each shoulder, and a shin made contact with the back of his legs, the sudden force and weight breaking the little strength he had, and the hands pulled forward and suddenly he was in the air, unaware of when his feet left the ground.

His back smacked into a snowbank and he sunk into his as the hands released, nothing but darkness overhead and a few specks of dotted light from the stars peeking through the clouds.

What the…

He blinked as a face appeared over him, trying to focus his eyes, the conniving, mischievous smile attached to the face the first to come back into focus.

“Hey, Daichi. Whatcha doin down there?”

He groaned as the rest of the face slowly slid into view, the squint of hazel eyes pulled tight by the smile that reached from ear to ear, the pale skin resembling something like starlight, and he would have thought the figure to be an angel had he not been seconds before thrown through the air by the figure.

The man winked, his grin growing impossibly more.

Definitely not an angel.

“Why you… you…”

“Awww, wittle baby Daichi is learning how to talk! Look at him, he’s grown up so much.” Suga wiped a fake tear from his eyes.

“Suga, you little… I thought you were hurt.”

Suga studied his fingers, twisting them around and wiggling them. “And why would I have been hurt? Oh, yeah, because you hurled a snowball directly at my head.”

“I didn’t… It wasn’t…” Daichi sputtered. “It was supposed to hit your shoulders or your chest, not your face.”

“Well it didn’t hit my chest, did it Daichi.”

“...No.”

Suga grinned. “Well then, consider us even.”

“Wait, how did you do that? I mean, you threw me into the snow…” Daichi let his eyes roam over Suga’s body, the puffy coat that seemed to swallow his small body whole. “You don’t look-”

“I’m going to stop you right there, before you embarrass yourself even more. You can thank me later.”

Daichi blinked. “But how-”

Suga tilted his head, leaning his body over where Daichi lay, his face inches from Daichi’s. “I’ll never tell.”

He laughed.

And catapulted himself into the snow beside Daichi.

“SUGA!”

Daichi unsuccessfully tried to wipe the snow off of him, giving up when Suga only scooped up more from the space between them and deposited it in a nice little pile on his chest.

They lay there, both staring up into the night sky, the small scattering of stars and the glowing crescent moon ringing the sky around it with light. Their breaths formed solid in the cold air, rising up until they mingled together in a cloud of smoke.

Daichi knew he could lay there forever like this.

And he would have, if the snow below him wasn’t melting into his clothes.

“Daichi?”

“Hmm?” Daichi turned his head to the right, away from the stars and towards the man made of starlight laying beside him.

Suga’s face was close, too close, and the traitorous beat of Daichi’s heart increased.

“Why’d you agree to come with me?”

‘What do you mean?”

“It’s just… you barely know me, and what if I’m not who you thought I was?” Suga chuckled to himself, trying to mask the waver in his voice, but Daichi was good at reading people, good at fitting all the puzzle pieces into place.

He knew what it felt like.

To be fake.

To mask the parts of yourself you don’t want others to see.

He focused on the eyes of the man beside him, the glittering hazel irises lit by the orbs of light above.

To be lonely.

“What if this is a mistake?” Suga whispered.

Daichi let his hand drift from where it had been tracing circles in the snow till his frozen pinky gently nudged at Suga’s hand. He could feel Suga flinch, and he almost withdrew, but then Suga’s body relaxed, and the man closed his eyes. Daichi resummed tracing circles, but this time in the palm of Suga’s hand rather than in the snow between them.

A ragged sigh escaped past Suga’s lips.

His perfect, upturned lips-

 _No,_ Daichi shook his head. _Stop it._

But his brain was already there, already rewinding to the night before, back to the feel of Suga’s damp hair between his fingers, the softness of Suga’s cheek beneath Daichi’s palm, the scattering of freckles on Suga’s chest, right below the dip of his collarbone.

A constellation.

Skin made of starlight to hold it.

Daichi hadn’t noticed when he had shifted his body, only that now his shoulder was pressed into Suga’s nudging it gently as he continued to circle on Suga’s palm. Suga turned towards him, the solid breath that had been sent up into the sky above now resting on Daichi’s face, warm in the coldness of empty air.

“Daichi-”

Daichi turned his body, rotating till he was on his side, his chest almost flush with Suga’s, only a meager few inches of emptiness between them.

Daichi had never hated emptiness more.

He had stopped circling his finger when he had turned, his arm now trapped under his side. His other hand moved up, pushing the hair that covered Suga’s face behind his ear before trailing down to brush Suga’s lips.

Suga shivered.

Daichi cupped the side of Suga’s face, letting his thumb rest on the corner of Suga’s mouth where his lips met. Wide hazel eyes searched Daichi’s own, confusion and promise and fear dancing through them, twirling together in a euphony of light and life.

Daichi believed himself to be above average at reading people. No, not just above average. He was good at it, there was no denying it. The telling twist of a wrist, the way eyes shone (or rather the way they didn’t) in light, the subtle twitches and glances and nervous picking.

Each was a puzzle piece, fitting into others with a satisfying snap. A picture, a person, would start to emerge, slowly at first, when the pieces were all scattered on the table or the floor. But once the first match was complete, it became easier and easier to fit the others into place, until the person standing in front of him was full and whole and known.

Daichi was good at putting puzzles together.

So why couldn’t he read Suga?

What if it was a mistake?

Maybe Suga was right. Maybe he had grown tired of being the same middle piece everyone saw him to be, safe and secure and… boring. Maybe this was his desperate attempt to snap that middle piece in half, to break it beyond repair till no one recognized what he once had been.

But what if he was being foolish? He’d always be the middle piece, always be this way, and nothing that he did would change that. The piece would mend back together like magic the second he stopped, the second he let the stillness rest on him once again.

What if it was a mistake?

But it was too late now, too late to turn back the hands of the clock to the moment he had let the words, the promise, slip out of his mouth. Back to the moment he had first touched Suga’s skin, somewhere on the floor of his apartment. Back to the moment he had found the man sitting in his chair and instead of forcing the man to move or simply choosing a different table had joined the man.

Back to the beginning of everything.

It was too late now.

“I want to do this, Suga. It was my decision, my choice.” His thumb paused in the corner of Suga’s mouth, only his fingertips brushing. “You were right. How can I write about things I’ve never experienced? I have to experience adventure to write about it.”

It was a lie and he knew it.

Suga knew it too.

But he couldn’t tell Suga the real reason. He couldn’t let himself admit it.

“Daichi…”

Daichi leaned forward, closing the space between them, a millimeter at a time till the tip of his nose rested on Suga’s own, till he could feel Suga’s lips part under his thumb, till he was close enough that he couldn’t see anything other than the warm tones of Suga’s eyes as warmth filled his body despite the snow.

He preferred to remain unseen, safe in his middle piece lifestyle he had made for himself.

Safe.

Unseen.

Invisible.

Yet here he was, melting under the unrelenting gaze of the man in front of him, anything but invisible.

Maybe being invisible wasn’t something he wanted after all.

Suga’s eyes flickered under the moonlight, focused only on Daichi as he continued to move closer.

_“Tooru, babe, what’s up?”_

Daichi jerked back, letting his hand fall away from Suga’s face.

No, he couldn’t.

He…

“So why do we have to leave tonight? Why can’t we stay in my apartment tonight and then leave in the morning?”

Suga’s gaze wavered, the muscles in his face tensing under the sudden expanse of space between them, at the way Daichi had suddenly pulled himself away.

“I… I have to. I can’t stay in one place for too long and staying another night… I don’t think I could do it.”

Daichi nodded, though he didn’t understand.

He wondered if he ever would.

“Okay. Why don’t we get going then, before it gets too late?”

He was up and standing before Suga had a chance to respond, his hand extended to Suga. Suga hesitated before placing his hand loosely in Daichi’s, letting Daichi pull him up.

“Yeah… it’s getting late.”

Daichi didn’t know where Suga was driving, and he wondered if Suga did, or if he had just taken the first road he had come across.

They drove in silence, letting the passing orbs of streetlamps cover the emptiness between them rather than the fleetingness of words better left unsaid. It was uncomfortable, Daichi realized, nothing like the silence between them before, nothing like the silences that rested between breathy words and racing hearts. It was heavy, solid.

Yet he couldn’t bring his mouth to open in an attempt to replace the silence.

Suga drove for a few hours, passing town after town, only slowing to gaze at the people they passed, the small groups of people daring to be out in the cold. Daichi didn’t know what Suga was looking for, what sign of life he was searching for amongst the empty streets, but eventually he pulled into an empty parking lot and parked.

“Well, this is our stop for the night. There’s a gas station over there if you want to brush your teeth or get something to drink. I’ll get us set up.”

Daichi nodded and pushed open the door, grabbing the plastic bag from his duffle and trudging to the neon lights of the gas station, which looked empty other than the soft ring of cigarette smoke that flowed from the attendant standing outside.

The man motioned to the bathroom inside and Daichi slipped in, locking the door behind him. He brushed his teeth slowly, careful not to make eye contact with himself in the smudged mirror above the sink.

He preferred to remain invisible.

Even from himself.

He spat out the toothpaste and watched as the running sink water pulled it down into the drain, swirling around in circles before it disappeared completely.

His fingertips ached from where they’d circled on Suga’s palm.

Pushing out of the bathroom, Daichi grabbed a bottle of water from one of the coolers, moving away before the glass door could close and reflect back to him the burn in his chest.

He paid the man before returning to the car in the parking lot beside the gas station. There was slight movement inside, and a light of some kind, silhouetting Suga’s figure as he moved.

Suga cracked the door as Daichi neared, motioning for him to climb in. Daichi hadn’t gotten a good look at the back of Suga’s car before in the darkness, but the soft light emitting from the battery-powered star lamp attached to the ceiling cast a slight glow over the setup.

It was tight, smaller than any space Daichi had been in before, and the exorbitant amount of pillows piled everywhere did nothing to help, but it was cozy, warm, safe.

A full-size mattress rested on top of a collection of crates and drawers, the places Daichi assumed Suga hid all his art supplies and clothes.

Suga left to go brush his own teeth, taking a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt with him, and Daichi used the opportunity to change in the empty car. He sat on the mattress, not knowing where else to place himself, and let his eyes roam over the car, the pillows, the quilt on the bed.

He didn’t notice when Suga climbed back in, only noticing when the mattress shifted under him from the addition of weight as Suga sat crisscross on the other side. Suga patted the pillow he had placed on the right side for Daichi, and Daichi slid up the mattress to rest on his stomach with his arms on the pillow.

He stared at the seat in front of him, letting his eyes trace over the pattern of the thread. He couldn’t let himself look as Suga threw blankets over him and crawled into the other side, being careful not to let his leg brush Daichi’s.

“Goodnight, Daichi,” Suga whispered, flipping the star light off.

Daichi didn’t answer, only let his eyes adjust to the darkness around him. There were curtains over the windows, but a small peak of neon light from the gas station peeked through under then, on the side where Suga was.

He let his eyes drift over to Suga’s form, still under the pile of blankets yet still shrouded in movement as his breathing stilled. The red glow of neon rested on him, moving slightly as he breathed.

Though they weren’t touching, Daichi could feel the warmth of Suga’s presence seeping into his skin and bones, something akin to the way coffee settled in his stomach with the first sip.

Comforting.

Daichi let himself turn to his side, mirroring the movement from before in the snowbank, but this time he didn’t move closer to Suga. Instead, he curled up into himself, the same position he used in the vast expanse of his own bed, pulling his knees up till they touched his chest.

Safe.

Suga shuffled slightly in his sleep, raising the blanket just enough for Daichi to see something gripped in Suga’s arms.

Daichi laughed softly to himself as he watched Suga pull the container of paints closer to the heat of his body.

He preferred to remain unseen, safe in his middle piece lifestyle he had made for himself.

But what if there was a piece missing in that puzzle of his, one he had been too blind to notice before, too set in his middle piece ways to look beyond his safe and surrounded spot in the puzzle that made up who he was to see the emptiness of a missing piece?

That was the thing about puzzles. It was only when he looked at them from above that he could see the pieces that were missing, the parts of the image needed to finish it and turn it into something complete and whole.

He had convinced himself they didn’t exist. If he couldn’t see them from his safe spot in the middle, he could pretend for a lifetime that he was okay, that his life was complete, that he didn’t need someone else to add color to the puzzle he called his own.

He was fine as he was, in the blind state of disbelief, of denial.

Maybe he had convinced himself of that too.

But-

“Goodnight, Suga,” he breathed, knowing the words were unheard by sleep covered ears.

What if Suga was the puzzle piece that fit into the vast emptiness of space he had been running away from for so long?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well friends, ya made it. Look at that! 
> 
> Will they ever kiss? Who knows *evil laughter*
> 
> So, what is everyone doing for Christmas this year? I know things might look different than before, and I know it may be tough, but look at you! You're still alive, you're breathing, you're living! And that's such an accomplishment.
> 
> As always, comments are the best, come yell at me please. (As if I don't already get enough of it from [sometimesiwritethings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sometimesIwritethings)
> 
> Love you guys! Stay safe! (っ◔◡◔)っ ❤


	11. Weird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had never bothered him much.
> 
> He had always been like that, so nothing the kids said or did ever felt different. He had always known so, he didn’t need them to tell him.
> 
> Weird.
> 
> He thought it a funny word. 
> 
> “Of strange or extraordinary character; Odd, Fantastic.”
> 
> Wasn’t that a good thing?
> 
> Weird.
> 
> It was who he was, who the other kids he met viewed him, how adults who thought they held the answers to his strange behaviors tried to explain him. 
> 
> He didn’t need to be explained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Only the Lonely Survive](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TTfZO1vI0_8)  
> I don't know how you feel yourself  
> But I'd rather hurt here than be happy somewhere else  
> No one will scar me like you do  
> But no one will ever be compared, compared to you  
> The heart gets slow  
> We all heal though  
> You never know  
> To stay or go  
> But I know  
> A love like this will end in tragedy  
> You know  
> Every kiss suspendin' gravity  
> Burns us both  
> To love this close  
> We lose ourselves  
> And I know we won't get out alive  
> But only the lonely survive
> 
> SUGA BACKSTORY SUGA BACKSTORY SUGA BACKSTORY
> 
> HEY HEY HEY FRIENDS! Welcome back to this story that was supposed to be a one shot (oops). Thanks for tuning in this week, and for always being the absolute best! We surpassed 1,000 hits, and that makes me so incredibly excited. So welcome back both new and old friends!
> 
> Feat. the reveal of the velvet suit story
> 
> Enjoy!

Sugawara Koushi was used to waking up alone.

It was something he’d always done, something he’d always do.

Even as a child, when he’d fall asleep in his mom’s bed or on the couch curled up around his younger brother as the tv droned over full bellies and tired eyes, he’d awaken the next morning in his own bed once again, no recollection or memory of ever being moved.

Alone.

He’d lived his entire life alone.

He was always the kid in the corner growing up, the one with a book or a sketchpad, ignored by the other children.

He was the kid called “weird” through passing sighs and side glances, words and looks he wasn’t supposed to see, but those words and looks were hard to hide.

It had never bothered him much.

He had always been like that.

_Weird._

He had always faded into the background of scenes, the tree or a piece of cloud in the school plays and musicals that creeped and faded into his everyday life.

He was a leaf, a wisp.

Fleeting.

It had never bothered him much.

He had always been like that, so nothing the kids said or did ever felt different. He had always known so, he didn’t need them to tell him.

_Weird._

He thought it a funny word.

“Of strange or extraordinary character; Odd, Fantastic.”

Wasn’t that a good thing?

_Weird._

It was who he was, who the other kids he met viewed him, how adults who thought they held the answers to his strange behaviors tried to explain him.

He didn’t need to be explained.

He was fine. Content.

Happy.

He was himself.

Yes, he was alone, secluded in every imaginable form of the word.

He was the last picked for team sports, but that was fine, because he didn’t much like them anyway. He much rather preferred to stand on the side and watch the kids around him. The way their bodies moved and ricocheted and blurred with motion as they moved in pursuit of a ball or each other. He drew them on his gym shorts, tracing their motion through soft fingertips and smooth fabric, burning the motion into his skin, into his brain until it became muscle memory, something he could replicate hours later on one of the many sketchbooks he kept in his backpack, his desk, his room.

Each and every one of them was filled.

Bodies and motion and eyes and fears and joys.

He caught it all.

He was weird.

He knew that.

But if his weirdness meant being able to see into people the way he did, maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing.

Maybe he was a superhero.

Eventually, something would go wrong, the city would be on fire, the aliens his neighbor Tooru told him about would attack, the kids who breathed out “weird” to each other every time he tripped past in his too-big feet and eclectic unmatched clothing suddenly in danger, in need of someone of strange and extraordinary character.

He drew up the costume, under the cover of dusk and an old battery-powered headlamp that he hid under his stuffed crow whenever his mom would come to check in on her supposedly sleeping son.

He drew iteration after iteration.

It was never good enough.

Sketchbooks were filled, pages and pages of dreams ripped out and dog-eared and crumpled but never thrown away.

He never threw any of them away.

He was a superhero, after all. Eventually, people would know who he was, how he had saved everyone with his odd and fantastic abilities, and they would be clamoring for the very first sketches of the superhero suit that would grace every newspaper in the city.

Maybe even every newspaper in the world.

_Weird._

He was weird.

After hearing it enough, it didn’t sound much like a word to him anymore, just a jumble of letters and brush strokes and sounds that all seemed to follow each other, that seemed to follow after him.

He couldn’t hide from them.

So he didn’t. He embraced it. He was a superhero, a masked figure who held the hope of humanity on his too bony shoulders, someone others would eventually look up to in awe and wonder.

He knew it would happen eventually.

It had to.

He was weird, after all.

Of strange or extraordinary character.

Fantastic.

But then, the summer before his second year, he grew into his too-big feet, his overextended ears, his lanky bony body.

The orthodontist removed his braces, he convinced his mom to let him dye his hair.

And suddenly people started seeing him.

The hushed whispers of the word he’d heard his entire life changed from rude and tinged with venom and disgust to flustered blushes and hidden giggles and wide eyes.

_“Oh my gosh, is that Suga?”_

_“What happened to him?”_

_“Dang, he had a glow up.”_

_“Shit, he’s hot.”_

_“Have you seen his smile? Swoonworthy.”_

_“He should seriously consider going into modeling.”_

_“Or maybe film. They could probably sell out of tickets just by pasting his face on the poster.”_

_“Do you think he likes anyone?”_

_“Is he dating anyone?”_

_“I’d love a piece of that.”_

_“Should I invite him to my party?”_

_“Do you think he might like me?”_

_“Did you see the way she was looking at him?”_

_“Did you see the way he was looking at me?”_

_“He’s going to confess to me, I just know it.”_

The whispers were different yet altogether the same. They were still hidden from him, unsuccessfully in most circumstances, said to another with furtive glances and shuffling feet and slightly turned bodies.

He didn’t notice at first. He had long ago tuned out the whispers, something in his brain filtering them from one ear through a cavern of emptiness and silence and white noise before releasing them, unheard, out the other ear, like a wisp of smoke from a nearby campfire, a slight brush of warmth and a brief tightness in lungs before its existence was forgotten completely.

_Weird._

He joined the volleyball team, after the insistence of his counselor, the repeated nagging about it looking good on transcripts and college applications. He enjoyed it, a surprise to him, something about being able to finally make use of the lanky body that people had tormented him about since childhood.

He’d never minded his body. It did what it was supposed to do. It worked in every second to push oxygen through his lungs and blood through his veins.

It kept him _alive._

And that was all that mattered.

But suddenly the comments about his body changed. Just like “weird” had been replaced by new whispers, “awkward” and “gangly” had been replaced too.

Cute.

Willowy.

Lithe.

_Attractive._

He wasn’t the kid picked last for kickball anymore. He wasn’t the kid sitting alone at lunch with a sketchpad or a book. He wasn’t ignored by people passing through the hall.

Suddenly, Sugawara Koushi was seen.

He didn’t notice at first when the other students started adopting a more eclectic style to their clothes, piece by piece. He thought it a new fad, a trend, till one day a girl asked him where he got his metallic blue lace-up boots, and another asked where his floral patterned button-up was from, only a few minutes apart.

He found the popular students he had always chosen to ignore, the ones who had always ignored him, magnetized towards him by some unseen force. They were always there, hovering, flitting like a hummingbird around him as they began to see him.

_“Hey, I’m having a party this weekend.”_

_“Come sit with me!”_

_“Here’s my number, text me and we can hang out.”_

_“Are you going to the party on Friday?”_

_“Wanna go to the movies with me tonight? There’s a new one playing that I’ve been wanting to see.”_

_“You should come over!”_

_“You’re one of us now.”_

They no longer used the word that had held a high spot in their vocabulary repertoire.

_Weird._

He no longer heard the word whispered when he passed. It no longer followed behind him everywhere he went, a shadow in the shape of a word.

Cool.

_“You’re so cool, Suga!”_

“Suga, you know I love you, but you’ve suddenly sprouted and taken all the attention away from me,” Tooru pouted one afternoon over lunch, his eyes wide and misty. “It’s like I’m no longer here.”

Suga had smacked his best friend then, muttering something about being over-dramatic.

But later, as he lay face down in his bed, feeling the cool quilt his grandmother had made him under his cheeks, he realized Tooru was right.

He was no longer invisible.

He was no longer a ghost of a presence, a wisp of campfire smoke.

He was no longer invisible.

But being visible didn’t mean being seen.

He learned that quickly.

He was popular, sought after, chased after by love-struck girls.

But he wasn’t seen.

He had never minded the word.

_Weird._

It was a part of who he was, his superhero identity as he saved the world.

It was just him.

He knew nothing had changed. He was still the same person he had always been, the same kid who had been resigned to a tree without hesitation when other students were clamoring for the lead.

He thought it a funny word.

“Of strange or extraordinary character; Odd, Fantastic.”

Wasn’t that a good thing?

They didn’t see him. Not really. He was fleeting, a fad. He hadn’t really changed, at least not inside, and he knew they hadn’t changed either, still chasing nothing more than aesthetics and popularity and beauty.

They didn’t care about him.

He often wished nothing had changed, the word “weird” still whispered after him everywhere he went.

That “weird” would go back to being so repeated that it no longer sounded like a word, that it changed into something translucent, like a raindrop running down a window in the sun.

He never complained, at least not to others. Soon enough he’d be gone, they’d be gone, and he’d go back to being the kid hidden under covers with a headlamp and sketches of a superhero costume.

At least Tooru saw him.

His childhood friend and neighbor had been there from the beginning, with theories about extraterrestrial life and a radiant personality. Tooru had always been popular, but not in the same way as the other kids. He never forced himself to go to parties or events just to keep his status, never tried to hide his personality to fit in.

He was like Suga.

Weird.

Yet he had always been sought after by others, always been told he was handsome since he was little, always had the outward confidence Suga never had.

But Tooru saw him.

He always had.

And Tooru had stuck by him from the beginning, from their first meeting. He had first tried to fight off the whispers and stares directed at Suga, he had been protective and strong and bold. A friend. But Suga, over time, had been able to convince him to leave it alone, that the whispers and stares didn’t bother him as much as they did Tooru.

Tooru had eventually obliged.

But that didn’t mean he liked it.

Suga knew he didn’t. The way his shoulders would tense up and the way his face would freeze and the way his mouth would twist as the whispers reached them was more than enough proof.

But he loved Suga.

And he would do whatever Suga wanted, even if it meant not snapping like he wanted to at the kids who had the audacity to make fun of his best friend.

Tooru saw him.

Tooru loved him.

And that was all that mattered.

_Weird._

It’s what he was, what he would always be.

Alone.

Sugawara Koushi was used to waking up alone.

It was something he’d always done, something he’d always do.

Alone.

He’d lived his entire life alone.

So when he let his eyes flutter open in the creaking coming of the morning, when the first tendrils of light began to snake their way through the cold air, he jumped in surprise.

There was someone sleeping beside him.

Someone in his car.

In his bed.

And his arm was currently wrapped around said someone.

Too frozen to move, he let his eyes blink away the sleep crust as they began to focus. Daichi was curled up beside him, preserved in the same position as the night before, his knees almost pulled up to his chest, his body on its side, facing Suga. His hair splayed on the pillow, the short pieces curling slightly. His cheeks were flushed, the tip of his nose tinged with pink from the cool interior of the car. His mouth was slightly parted, his lips moving just the slightest bit as he breathed, slow and steady under the power of sleep.

Suga really wanted to lean forward and kiss them.

But Daichi had pulled away the night before, right when Suga thought for sure Daichi was going to kiss him. He had pulled away suddenly like something in him had snapped.

Like he’d realized it was a mistake.

Suga knew it probably was, but it hurt anyway.

Daichi stirred slightly in his sleep, tucking his chin under the blankets piled on top of him, a single soft snore escaping.

Suga couldn’t help but smile.

One of Suga’s arms was trapped under Daichi’s torso, the other resting lightly on his waist, tucked under Daichi’s arm. His legs were tangled in Daichi’s, their ankles crossed.

Suga was too used to sleeping alone.

He was used to spreading out in the bed by himself, and his body hadn’t seemed to realize there was someone else there while he slept.

Or maybe it had.

Maybe that’s why he was currently wrapped around Daichi.

He should move.

He really should.

Daichi was sure to awaken soon, evident by the snuffles and movements coming from him, and he’d be uncomfortable, waking up to a man who was still kind of a stranger snuggled up to him.

Awake.

He pondered pretending to still be asleep. At least then he’d have an excuse for his position.

But he had always been bad at that.

He had never fooled his mom as a child, even though she pretended he did.

He eased himself out from under Daichi, immediately feeling the absence of warmth and skin.

It felt empty without him.

The movement of Suga’s arm under Daichi seemed to be the thing that finally woke him, and Suga quickly pulled his hand away before Daichi could notice.

“Morning, Daichi. Sleep well?”

“Hrmph.”

“Aww, is wittle baby Daichi a morning grump?” He reached forward to smooth out the creases on Daichi’s forehead. “You’re going to get wrinkles if you keep that face, and so soon after learning how to talk! What a shame.”

Daichi swatted in the general direction of Suga’s hand, missing completely and instead slamming it into the hard plastic exterior of Suga’s paint container.

“Oww, what the sh-”

“Now Daichi, haven’t you been taught to watch your language? That’s no language for a baby to be using.”

Daichi’s eyes narrowed, but the corners of his lips turned up. “What are you, my mom? In that case, I learned from you”

Suga laughed. “Now, come on, I need some coffee and it’s obvious you do too. We passed a cute little place on our way here last night and I want to go check it out.”

“As much as I hate what you’re insinuating with that comment, and as much as I don’t want to give you the satisfaction, you’re right.”

Suga tossed Daichi his duffle and grabbed his own toiletries and clothes from one of the drawers under the bed, already pushing open the door to head to the gas station next door. “Then stop lagging Daichi, and get dressed.”

The coffeeshop was small, hidden somewhere in the corner where two buildings met in an “L” shape, but it was warm and cozy and the coffee was good.

Suga swirled the latte around in the cup, something tinged with rosemary and honey and sugar crystals around the rim. Daichi sat across from him happily sipping his hazelnut honey latte.

Oh, how Suga wanted to paint that moment.

Tupelo.

That’s what Suga would have used to describe Daichi’s eyes under the morning light. They weren’t umber, like he had previously thought, but something akin to the Tupelo honey in their drinks, amber and gold and flowing with life.

Daichi was made of Tupelo honey.

“Daichi, I’m curious. What happened with that velvet suit Kuroo mentioned? There’s obviously a story behind it and you should probably tell me what it is before my brain has time to decide it for myself,” Suga grinned across the table, hoping it looked just mischievous enough to be threatening. “And trust me, you don’t want to know the scenarios my brain will come up with.”

Daichi’s face warmed, a Naphthol Crimson, if Suga had to choose a paint to use to paint it.

“I… umm…” he sputtered. “Well, you see…”

He obviously looked uncomfortable, and a tinge of guilt surged through Suga.

“You don’t have to answer if you’re uncomfortable. I’m joking, you don’t have to tell me.”

“No, it’s fine.” Daichi twisted his hands together. “It’s just, I did something really dumb the night Kuroo was wearing that suit, and he’ll never let me forget it.”

Suga leaned forward, resting his hand on Daichi’s arm. Daichi stilled under his touch. “I’m serious, you don’t have to tell me.”

“I want to,” Daichi whispered. “I don’t know why.”

Suga stared, tracing the outlines of Daichi on his jeans with his free hand. He hummed, acknowledging Daichi’s words.

Daichi wanted to share it with him.

An embarrassing story.

That had to mean something, right?

“So, last year, I guess it was around exactly a year ago now that I’m thinking about it, I had a big book release and my agent, Hajime, got together with the publishing house to throw me a huge party after the book officially dropped in stores at midnight. There was a lot of alcohol, a lot, and I was so nervous about how people would receive the book, and I drank a bit more than I should have. And then Kuroo convinced me and Hajime to go with him to a bar after, and well…” Daichi blushed. “You can see where this is going. More alcohol was consumed, way too much, and not enough food because of how nervous I was. I don’t know how, but Kuroo convinced me to go on stage and do karaoke in front of the entire bar. I made an absolute fool of myself, and I don’t remember any of this, but apparently I go so into the song that the whole bar was watching and cheering me on and at the end I pulled Kuroo up, kissed him, and then threw up all over his stupid velvet suit.”

Suga could feel the tears leaking out his eyes as he laughed, his whole body shaking. “Oh my gosh, that’s incredible. Wait, how do you know you actually did it if you don’t remember anything?”

Daichi scowled. “Cause Hajime filmed the entire thing, the little shit.”

“Language, wittle baby Dai. Language.”

“Fine, the little turd.”

“That’s better.”

Daichi dropped his head into his hands. “So not only do I have proof of me embarrassing myself on stage, I have proof of kissing my best friend, which makes me gag just thinking about it, and then also throwing up on his stupid expensive velvet suit. And he won’t let me forget about it either. He turned it into a gif and he’ll send it to me randomly or airdrop it to me in public, and sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night to find the suit learning above me, on a mannequin or once it was suspended from my ceiling. Nearly gives me a heart attack, every time.” He sighed. “I still need to figure out how he keeps getting in. I changed my locks, but it didn’t do anything.”

“Is there any potential way for me to see said gif?’

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!”

“Fine, if you won’t show me, I’ll just text Kuroo and ask for it then,” Suga laughed, holding up his phone.

“You wouldn’t. You don’t have his number.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. He gave me vaguely threatening instructions to keep you safe and made me give him my number so he could regularly check-in. And gave me his so I can send proof that you’re still alive and I haven’t killed you. Though I’m smart enough to know how to fake it, so I don’t know what good he thinks it will do.”

Daichi sputtered.

“But I won’t,” Suga whispered, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “At least, the asking for the gif part. All bets are out on the murdering you part, though. But I won’t ask for the infamous gif without your consent. You can show me when you’re ready.”

Daichi released something resembling a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Suga. I really appreciate it.”

“And don’t feel too embarrassed about it. The kissing your best friend while drunk thing, that is. The vomiting over his suit after is and I won’t try to deny that. But, I mean, who hasn’t kissed their best friend while drunk. There was one time I got plastered after a writer basically bashed my art and called it trash and I kissed Tooru. We agreed never to talk about it ever again, and we haven’t.”

“Tooru?” Daichi hesitated.

“Yeah, Tooru is my best friend since childhood. We were neighbors growing up and basically inseparable.” Suga stuck his tongue out. “So trust me, I know how weird it is to kiss your best friend while drunk.”

“Tooru is your best friend? And you thought it was gross?”

“Yup. That’s why we never talk about it. If you pretend it didn’t happen, it didn’t, right?”

Daichi looked relieved for some reason Suga couldn’t figure out. “Yeah. That’s definitely how that works.”

His smile stretched across his face as he laughed, the sound warm and inviting, and something Suga wished he could hear every day.

Tupelo honey.

Daichi’s whole being was made of Tupelo honey.

“Daichi, do you think I’m weird?”

He looked confused. “Weird, what do you mean?”

Suga leaned back in his chair, letting his eyes drift up to the ceiling, suddenly unable to look at Daichi’s Tupelo eyes. “Just… weird. Different. Strange.”

_Weird._

He had always faded into the background of scenes, the tree or a piece of cloud in the school plays and musicals that creeped and faded into his everyday life.

He was a leaf, a wisp.

Fleeting.

It had never bothered him much.

“I mean, yeah, I guess so. I guess you’re kinda weird.”

_Weird._

He was weird.

After hearing it enough, it didn’t sound much like a word to him anymore, just a jumble of letters and brush strokes and sounds that all seemed to follow each other, that seemed to follow after him.

He couldn’t hide from them.

So he didn’t. He embraced it. He was a superhero, a masked figure who held the hope of humanity on his too bony shoulders, someone others would eventually look up to in awe and wonder.

He knew it would happen eventually.

It had to.

He was weird, after all.

Of strange or extraordinary character.

Fantastic.

_Alone._

“But I like it. Your weirdness, that is.”

Suga’s eyes dropped back down to Daichi, to the way he stared with a certain fondness back at Suga, to the way his Tupelo honey eyes softened around the edges, to the way his whole body seemed to radiate.

“Daichi…” Suga whispered.

Words.

What an enigma they are.

How if you say a word, just repeat it, over and over and over it starts to not sound like a word.

_“Weird.”_

_“Suga is so weird.”_

_“What a weird kid.”_

_Weird._

It starts to become thin.

Wispy.

Cloudy.

Translucent.

And then all at once transparent.

Until it is invisible, and it no longer brings to mind the things it once did.

The word “Tupelo” no longer means sun, and summer warmth, and hot chamomile tea nestled in hands.

The color Suga saw when he looked at Daichi.

It no longer meant the color of his eyes, the smell of his skin, the way he smiled.

It became meaningless.

And Suga started to wonder if it really ever meant anything, anything at all, or was it always just a jumble of letters and sounds, some foreign language he can’t translate.

Completely meaningless.

_Weird._

“Daichi…”

And he wondered, oh how he wondered, if he repeated Daichi’s name to himself, over and over and over, with each exhale would he mean less?

Suga had spent the last two nights, in the moments before sleep finally caught up with him, repeating, over and over and over.

Hoping.

Wishing.

That Daichi would mean nothing.

It would be easier that way. Less scary, less terrifying.

“Daichi…”

“Yes, Suga? Are you okay?”

But Suga had found that names were not like words.

People were not like words.

The more you repeat them, the more opaque they become.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you guys had really good guesses about the suit story, and they were all close, so shoutout to yall! Thanks for reading, and tuning in this week! As always, the comments are my favorite part, and I love making friends, so come yell or scream or cry at me below (I like hugs too, so virtual hugs are good as well)
> 
> I may not have a chapter next weekend with Christmas, but we'll see! There will for sure be one the week after so be on the lookout
> 
> See you soon!


	12. Euphony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suga was already ordering a second drink, this one to go, chatting over the counter with the barista, and Daichi couldn’t do anything but stare.
> 
> It was captivating, the way Suga moved. The way his whole body rocked forward as he leaned into the conversation with the laughing barista, the way his purple-tipped hair swung in the ponytail when he chuckled, the way his feet crossed and twisted even when he wasn’t moving.
> 
> Daichi was captivated.
> 
> And he hadn’t seen it coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Outnumbered](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A48hOToMuRE)  
> I see everything you can be  
> I see the beauty that you can't see  
> On the nights you feel outnumbered  
> Baby, I'll be out there somewhere  
> I could have showed you all the scars at the start  
> But that was always the most difficult part  
> See, I'm in love with how your soul's a mix of chaos and art  
> And how you never try to keep 'em apart  
> I wrote some words and then I stared at my feet  
> Became a coward when I needed to speak  
> I guess love took on a different kind of meaning for me  
> So when I go just know it kills me to leave
> 
> HEY HEY HEY FRIENDS WELCOME BACK! I hope everyone had a good and safe Christmas and New Years! I didn't have much time to write so I'm excited to get back into it.
> 
> This is one of my favorite chapters so far, I think, so I hope you enjoy!
> 
> See you at the bottom!

Daichi couldn’t remember a time when there hadn’t been Suga.

True, he had only known him for three days.

Three measly days in the light of eternity, or infinity.

Yet somehow it didn’t feel like that.

Suga didn’t feel like a single sentence, a jumble of letters with meaning that changed based on how you placed them.

He wasn’t a paragraph, an epigraph.

No, Sugawara Koushi was a novel.

A saga.

And Daichi wouldn’t have it any other way.

Suga was already ordering a second drink, this one to go, chatting over the counter with the barista, and Daichi couldn’t do anything but stare.

It was captivating, the way Suga moved. The way his whole body rocked forward as he leaned into the conversation with the laughing barista, the way his purple-tipped hair swung in the ponytail when he chuckled, the way his feet crossed and twisted even when he wasn’t moving.

Daichi was captivated.

And he hadn’t seen it coming.

“Hey, you okay? You look a bit distracted.”

Blinking, Daichi suddenly became very aware of the man now at his side, leaning just the slightest bit into him, the place where they connected set aflame even through the layers of wool and knit.

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking.”

Suga laughed, that soft, tinkling laugh that made Daichi breathless, and pushed a to-go cup into Daichi’s hand. “Here, take this. I got you one too.”

“Oh, thanks,” he stuttered. “What is it?”

Suga grinned. “Why don’t you try it and find out.”

Daichi knew a cup of coffee shouldn’t make his heart race at the rate it currently was, it really shouldn’t. He’d probably just had too much caffeine already, even though it was much less than his normal daily consumption.

Still, it had to be the caffeine.

Right?

Taking a tentative sip, Daichi willed everything in him to slow the pounding under his ribcage, something so strong there was no doubt everyone in the small coffee shop could hear it.

There was no doubt Suga could hear it, pressed directly into his side.

Even if he couldn’t hear it in the air around then, something like a sped up ticking of a clock, he could no doubt feel it, deep under the surface of Daichi’s skin, rumbling through his bones and his muscles, swirling through his blood.

He was doomed.

The drink caught him off guard. It was different from the honey hazelnut latte he had gotten used to. It was something stronger, bolder, more confident in its flavor. It was bitter, but not in the same way over-pulled shots or burnt coffee were. It was a bitter-sweet boldness, something that hit his tongue with a power he had never experienced before fading out to a lingering sweetness that coated his taste buds.

He couldn’t help but compare it to the man beside him.

Bold and confident. Strong, yet still tinged in softness.

Sweet

“What is this?’

It was obvious Suga couldn’t figure out the tone hidden in his voice, and Suga’s face faltered. “Umm, I’m so sorry, I know you were expecting the honey hazelnut and I should have asked you beforehand if it was okay to get you something different, I just thought-”

“No,” Daichi whispered, feeling his face heat a bit more than the warmth of the coffee shop could mandate. “I love it.”

Suge pulled his head up to gaze at Daichi, his mouth slack in shock. “Really?”

“Yes, really. But I can’t figure out what it is. It feels vaguely familiar but I can’t place my finger on it.”

“You really do like it?”

Daichi nodded.

Suga’s eyes glittered in the light of the coffee shop. “It’s a red-eye with a shot of bourbon vanilla syrup.”

Daichi blinked.

Bourbon?

Well, that would explain the taste he couldn’t quite figure out.

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Suga?”

“What? No! How dare you insinuate that!”

But Daichi was laughing, talking an over-dramatic gulp of the drink.

“Let’s go, you goof. We’ve got some life to live.”

Daichi watched the back of Suga’s head as he was pulled out of the coffee shop, letting himself be led willingly out into the cold fall morning, somewhere away from the safe interior of the strange coffeeshop.

Away from what he knew as safe.

Yet he went willingly, happily.

Because as long as he was with Suga, the wide world didn’t seem as scary somehow.

And he suddenly loved the idea of living.

“Where are we going? We’ve been walking around for two hours, Suga. And you’re obviously struggling with the paints, please, just let me take them for a bit.”

Suga huffed, the breath forming solid in front of him in the cold air. “Hold your horses, Daichi. Patience is a virtue, you know.”

“Just hand me the paints, or the canvas, or something.”

“I can do it, I’ve done it myself my whole life,” Suga said, pausing to reposition the container of paints in his arms.

“But you don’t have to anymore. You have me. Just let me help, please.”

Suga halted suddenly, his eyes staring straight ahead. “I don’t have to anymore… I have… I have you.”

Daichi nodded, confused at the sudden change in Suga, the repetition of the words. “Yeah, that’s what I said. Now hand me the canvas.”

Hesitating for only a moment, Suga pushed the large canvas towards Daichi, who grabbed it as gently as he could.

“Daichi?”

“Yeah?”

“Nothing, just,” Suga whispered. “Thank you.”

Daichi cocked his head. “It’s no problem, really.”

“No, I mean it. Thank you… for coming with me.”

If his heart had been a ship, it would have wrecked to bits on the rocks, into pieces so small it would be impossible to piece back together. “Suga-”

“Let’s go. The quicker we walk, the quicker I find inspiration.”

Suddenly Suga was gone, his pace quickened enough to bolt ahead of Daichi. Shaking his head, Daichi followed.

“What happens if you don’t find inspiration? Has that ever happened before?”

“Yeah, it happens sometimes. Actually, it happens a lot. Most days I don’t, but then I just move to the next place and start all over again. But I’m always ready for when I find it.”

“But isn’t that tiring? Does it get discouraging at all:?”

“Sometimes,” Suga said, his pace still slightly quicker than Daichi’s, like he was trying to get away from Daichi without making it obvious.

And that made Daichi nervous.

“But then I find that one thing, the thing that gives me the burst of inspiration I need, and then everything is okay. I always find it eventually, even if it takes longer than I’d like.”

“When was the last time you found it?”

“Three days ago.”

“Can I see it? I mean, I totally understand if you don’t feel comfortable showing me your work, I’ve just been really curious and I’d love to see it.”

“I haven’t had a chance to paint it yet.”

“Well, why don’t you paint it now instead of searching around for more?”

Suga halted in a split second, Daichi sliding to avoid running into his back.

“Suga?”

“I just… I can’t paint it, not yet. I need some time to process it, ya know. Figure out the composition and the color scheme. I want it to be absolutely perfect.”

Suga turned around, their chests now inches from each other, their solid breaths intertwining in the air between them. His cheeks were dusted pink, rosy on pale skin, his perfect nose blushed.

Daichi suddenly had every urge to lean forward and kiss it.

But instead, he let his eyes meet with Suga’s, watching the life inside of them turn to light.

“Because it’s going to be my masterpiece.”

He didn’t know why, he had no explanation, but he felt his breath hitch at the words, his ribcage straining and cracking as it tried to hold in his heart.

There was a sudden warmth on his lips, his head tilted down to let his lips gently brush Suga’s rosy nose, the warmth of Suga’s skin traveling through his entire body before settling in his toes.

Suga’s eyes widened when Daichi pulled away after the mere seconds of contact, his mouth parted slightly. “Dai-”

“Come on, let’s go find your inspiration,” Daichi said, pulling Suga behind him so Suga couldn’t see the blush that he felt reignite on his face.

“It’s going to be hard to find inspiration out there when you’re right here,” Daichi heard whispered from behind.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”

The morning passed in relative silence, just the crunch of snow beneath their feet and the weighted breaths between them as they walked. Daichi didn’t mind silence, he really didn’t. He lived most of his life in stillness, and stillness often came with silence. But even in silence, even in the solitude of his favorite coffee shop, there was always life. Bits and pieces of sound and noise that penetrated his stillness, that were small enough to push through the barrier he tried to put up around him.

He liked those little pieces, the little hums of noise, of sound. Because they were full of life, a life that belonged to him, a life that was made by the people around him.

A euphony of life, of longing, of love, of laughter.

That was why he liked his coffee shop so much. Because even in its silence, its absence of conversation, it was alive.

They paused in their motion only long enough to find a diner to grab lunch at, a place rustic and vintage without feeling overproduced and fake.

It was nice.

The waitress deposited the food in front of them, smiling widely at Suga’s praise.

That seemed to happen a lot.

He had a way of charming people, everyone he met.

Daichi had been no exception.

So what was it about Daichi that made Suga latch in some way onto him, when he could have done the same to anyone else that made an appearance in the life he flew through?

“Oh, this looks delicious. Thank you so much! Would you mind bringing some hot sauce, please?”

The waitress blushed, reaching up to twist at the ends of her hair pushed back by a headband.

Something in Daichi’s stomach twisted too.

“Of course! Anything for you. I’ll be right back,” she stuttered before turning away, tripping over a chair.

“Hot sauce?”

Suga laughed. “Have I not told you? Oh good golly, I can’t believe I haven’t told you. I’m a slut for spicy food.”

The soda that had previously been in Daichi’s mouth burned his nose as it exited.

Suga just laughed at Daichi’s reaction, leaning forward on the table to dab the end of a napkin at the liquid running out of Daichi’s nose.

“I love spicy food, what can I say? Give me the spiciest food on the menu and I’ll be as happy as can be. If it doesn’t burn my tastebuds off, I don’t want it.”

“You’re absolutely crazy.”

Suga grinned. “I know. But look.”

He reached into his container of paints, popping the lid and withdrawing a bottle that didn’t look like the rest. “I even keep a spare bottle on hand just in case a place doesn’t have it.”

Daichi shook his head, his heart fluttering in his chest.

“You’re crazy.”

“Oh, oh, oh! DAICHI! I FOUND IT!”

Suga skipped ahead, slipping on the snow bathed in the afternoon light. Daichi had no clue where he was going, but followed behind anyway, eager to see what had struck Sugas inspiration.

Sliding off the sidewalk in one fluid motion, Suga took off up the hill ahead of them, his boots giving no friction in the dusting of snow that covered it. He fell once, twice, three times before Daichi caught up to him, reaching out to grab Suga before he fell a fourth.

“Easy there, Suga.”

“DAICHI COME ON!”

Suga was off again, slipping out of Daichi’s reach, and then disappeared over the hill. Running to catch up, Daichi crested the hill and his eyes finally rested on what Suga had seen.

Further down the hill, in the clearing between where hills rose and fell, chugging along at a casual speed, was a train. It wove between the hills, disappearing for moments before it popped out the other side, rust and gold and onyx against the white that blanketed the ground. There were a few flakes falling, nothing more than flurries, mixing with the coal gray smoke that funneled out of the train.

“Wow,” Daichi whispered, landing beside Suga.

“Yeah,” Suga said, his voice soft and wistful. “Wow.”

“How’d you even see it? I didn’t see any train tracks and it came from behind the hills.”

“I heard it. And I knew that if I just crested this hill, that I would have my inspiration.”

Suga dropped to the ground, his legs folded under him, as he watched the train chug through the countryside. He motioned for Daichi to hand him the bag Daichi was carrying, and he obliged, handing the black canvas bag to Suga. Unzipping it, Suga pulled out a few long, thin wooden pieces, slotting them together into an easel. He sat there for a few minutes, unmoving, as he followed the train with his eyes, pulling his phone out after a bit to snap a few pictures.

Going to stand back up, Suga’s feet slipped, and in a lurch Daichi darted out to grab him, pulling Suga into his chest to stop his motion.

Suga’s laughter stilled, his body following suit, wrapped tightly in Daichi’s strong embrace. Daichi knew Suga could hear his heartbeat where his face was pressed into Daichi’s chest. He could feel Suga’s heartbeat too, humming underneath his fingers as they wrapped around Suga’s back, and he wondered if the rapid beating was merely because of the adrenaline of the fall.

Or maybe it was something else entirely.

“Suga…”

“Hmm?”

Suga turned his face up to look at Daichi, and Daichi became so swiftly aware of just how close they were. Hazel eyes that glimmered in the autumn wind rested on him, and he felt his heart stutter.

“Umm, do you need any help setting up? I can help, if you want.”

Suga blinked, and Daichi wondered if he sensed a hint of disappointment lingering in Suga’s voice as he responded, pushing himself off of Daichi’s chest, just enough to right himself. “Oh… sure.”

Daichi’s chest was cold, colder than it had been before even though Suga had only been pressed to him for a moment, his body memorizing the weight and heat of Suga until it had completely erased what it had felt like before, what if had felt like without Suga.

That seemed to have been becoming a theme.

Daichi couldn’t remember a time when there hadn’t been Suga.

Three days was all he had needed.

Three simple days to change the light of eternity, of infinity.

Yet somehow it didn’t feel scary.

Suga didn’t feel like a single sentence, a jumble of letters with meaning that changed based on how you placed them.

He wasn’t a paragraph, an epigraph.

No, Sugawara Koushi was a novel.

A saga.

And Daichi wouldn’t have it any other way.

He helped Suga set up his easel, moving and moving it again while Suga watched, pointing in the direction he needed it to go to be perfect, to give him the best snapshot of what he would be trying to capture through patient brush strokes and imperious swaths of color.

Watching Suga paint was something otherworldly.

Sugawara Koushi was made of starlight, of that Daichi was certain.

And watching Suga as he flicked the brush across the white expanse of canvas was like watching a shooting star as it graced the night sky, something rare and beautiful.

He never wanted to stop.

He was content to stand there for hours, to watch as Suga’s brows lowered in concentration, as his tongue made its way out of the side of his mouth, as he leaned into the painting like it would disappear if he stepped back too far.

It was captivating.

It didn’t look like much when he started, just a few random swatches of color on an otherwise clean canvas. The first train had disappeared into the distance, the tail end of it sliding behind a final hill before it vanished completely, gone behind the snow like it had never existed, save for the beginning of color on the canvas, the brush gliding loosely over the snow of the canvas.

But after a bit, whether it was a few minutes or an hour, Daichi didn’t know, he began to see something masterful taking shape where there once had been nothing, where there once had only been unconnected lines, where there once had been silence.

Sugawara Koushi had created motion.

Even in the stillness of his stance, the careful way he held the paintbrush, the unnoticeable way his wrist flicked in the most minuscule way to leave behind life, he had created something in motion, something that moved and rolled and chugged like the train and the hills around them.

Daichi was used to stillness.

He had spent his entire life surrounded by it.

He was content to live through his writing, through pictures, through movies.

But now, here with Suga, surrounded by life and motion, there was nothing to compare it to.

There was nowhere else he’d rather be.

Suga set his paintbrush down in the cup connected to the easel, wiping at his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a smear of paint across it. He turned to Daichi, his face fluttering with a cautious smile.

“I’ve never had anyone watch me paint before.”

“Are you okay with me watching?”

Suga paused, pushing a stray piece of hair behind his ears. “Yeah, I think so. I don’t think I would if it were anyone else.”

Daichi felt lightheaded.

“Do you… do you want to try?”

Daichi stuttered. “Me?”

“Yeah,” Suga smiled. “I can show you, if you want.”

“I don’t want to ruin your painting. It’s beautiful.”

_You’re beautiful._

Suga shook his head. “You won’t, I promise. I’ll guide your hand so you don’t have to worry.”

Gulping, Daichi nodded.

“Then come here.”

The trek from where he had been standing to Suga stretched, long and wide. When he finally reached Suga, his breath heavy, Suga grabbed his hand, pulling his glove off finger by finger, never once looking at Daichi’s face. Daichi’s hand was exposed, cold, tingling where Suga’s bare hand brushed his. Suga twisted Daichi’s hand in his, sliding in a paintbrush before positioning his fingers around it. Instead of watching the way Suga moved his hand into the correct position, he watched Suga’s face instead, the way his cheeks rose and fell while he breathed, the way his mole crinkled into his eyes when he concentrated, the way a blush spread across his face like paint dropped in a puddle of water on the sidewalk.

“Here,” Suga said, wrapping his hand around Daichi’s, putting just enough pressure on it to guide Daichi’s hand to the canvas.

Suga was standing slightly behind him, leaning into his shoulder, his body, his skin, as he moved. Daichi could feel Suga’s breath on his neck, warm and encompassing, sending tremors down his spine.

“Loosen your arm and wrist, let me move you.”

Daichi obliged, letting go of the pressure he had built up, and then Suga’s hand was pressing on his and the brush tip was on the canvas. Suga pushed his hand to the right, moving Daichi’s hand and the paintbrush into an upward swoop that enclosed a hill, a ring of light that graced the top of the hills around them as the afternoon sun reflected off the snowy ground.

Daichi watched his hand in awe as Suga’s own pale hand continued its motion, moving Daichi’s with it, circumscribing light onto stillness.

He let Suga guide him for a few minutes, his hand loose and pliable, no longer in control but still connected to the canvas, creating in some small way the masterpiece before him.

Suga released his hand, pulling Daichi’s off the canvas when the paint on the brush finally dwindled to nothing more than a smudge.

“That wasn’t too hard, now was it Daichi?”

Suga tucked the brush behind his ear, grinning up at Daichi, the tops of his ears and nose pink.

“And you will have forever been a part of this painting, Daichi. Your strokes will forever be there. Even if they’re someday covered up or painted over, they’re still there, somewhere beneath. You’ve left your mark on this canvas, Daichi.”

Daichi stepped closer to Suga, the snow crunching under his feet.

There was paint on Suga’s face, spots of red and blue and white, some smudged by the back of his hand, others undisturbed. Reaching out, Daichi let his finger follow one, let his fingertip trace the color, smearing it farther on Suga’s face.

Sugawara Koushi was art.

There was no doubt about it.

Suga gazed at him, his eyes mixed like the colors on his palette, a swirl of beauty and light and motion.

Promise.

“Daichi…”

Daichi’s breath hitched in his throat, the sensation burning his eyes and lungs. He moved his hand to Suga’s cheek, caressing his skin and jaw, pulling him closer. Using his thumb, he drew circles on Suga’s face, mixing and merging the paint, creating a galaxy on the man made of starlight.

Suga remained still, motionless, as he searched Daichi’s eyes. Using his mouth to pull off his other glove, Daichi moved to rest both his hands on Suga’s face, withdrawing one after a moment only to show Suga the union of paint on his fingertip, safe in the fissures of his fingerprints.

“And you’ve left your mark on me.”

And with that, Daichi grabbed Suga’s face and pulled it to his, their lips meeting in the perfect melody that Daichi had never experienced before, the perfect melody that he had longed for. The warmth of Suga’s lips under his was enough to spark a fire, and he wondered if he might just spontaneously combust there in the snow, surrounded by sky and hills and _Suga._

Suga remained motionless for a moment, still as Daichi moved against him, and Daichi started to pull back, suddenly acutely aware of Suga’s reaction, his hesitancy.

But then Suga’s paint-covered hand drifted up into his short hair and pulled him down, reconnecting their lips with the fire that Daichi had dreamed of, the flames licking and rising and pulling upward till they met the sky. Daichi’s hands grasped at Suga’s face, desperate, wanting, smoothing his thumbs over Suga’s cheekbones and sliding back to his hair, his fingers tangling in the silver strands, the strands still burned into his skin, seared into his memory, his blood.

The paintbrush behind Suga’s ear fell to the ground without a sound, cradled in the soft assurance of snow.

He turned his mouth, straining to deepen it farther and Suga responded without hesitation, crashing their lips back together till they were one, unified like the paint now forever mixed on the palette, on the canvas, on their hands.

Daichi was breathless, but nothing else mattered.

Sugawara Koushi was alive, his beating heart pressed to Daichi’s, their heartbeats harmonizing in a waltz, his breath now in Daichi’s lungs, engraving its place on their walls.

Sugawara Koushi was permanent.

Suga’s mouth parted as he pushed into Daichi, and Daichi knew he’d never get tired of the taste of chamomile.

Daichi didn’t know much about paint, or about art in general, but he didn’t have to know the terminology or the techniques to know what art was.

They were marigold and emerald, meeting in a wave on a canvas, intertwining in the ridges of the canvas.

He’s seen enough art to see colors dart swiftly towards each other only to halt a fraction of a millimeter before impact, soul mates knocking on each other’s shoulders as they passed on a crowded New York street, a tango of chiming laughter as they sidestepped to get out of the winding path of the one they may never meet again, never knowing what the other’s touch could do, and not considering that their lives may never intersect. Just two strangers who shared  
nothing more than a smile.

But he’d seen paint meet, swirling and mixing and sometimes dancing together in a wedding waltz, spinning faster & faster until their individuality was a blur of bodies and motion, becoming one with a clink of champagne glasses, a toast to their compatibility. The violins crescendoed.

As Daichi reluctantly pulled away, letting his fingers loosen in Suga’s hair, he let their noses rest together, let their gasping breaths combine between them.

And he knew that they would never go back to the colors they had been before.

“You should be glad I use nontoxic paint, I think you ingested a fatal amount,” Suga said, giggling into the warm presence of Daichi’s body.

“You’re crazy,” Daichi laughed, pulling Suga’s mouth up to meet his once again, dizzy from the moments spent without.

_I love you._

Daichi didn’t mind silence, he really didn’t. He lived most of his life in stillness, and stillness often came with silence. But even in silence, even in the solitude of his favorite coffee shop, there was always life. Bits and pieces of sound and noise that penetrated his stillness, that were small enough to push through the barrier he tried to put up around him.

He liked those little pieces, the little hums of noise, of sound. Because they were full of life, a life that belonged to him, a life that was made by the people around him.

A euphony of life, of longing, of love, of laughter.

That was why he liked his coffee shop so much. Because even in its silence, its absence of conversation, it was alive.

And now, his mouth against Suga’s in the silence of the world around them, he wondered if Suga was that euphony of life to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... uhh... hey there *runs*
> 
> In the words of my beta reader: "fricken finally!"
> 
> So anyway, hi, how's it going? You doing okay? Surviving down here?
> 
> OH! If anyone is interested, I have an Iwaoi 3 part fic you can read [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28464528/chapters/69750429) that I wrote for one of my best friends. It was supposed to be a Christmas fic, but I wasn't able to finish it before so it changed a bit. The first part is up already and the second is going up in the next few days, and then the final part after! Hope y'all will check it out!
> 
> As always, comments are my fave, so hit me up!


	13. Pillar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Suga, what the hell is this?” Daichi stopped in the middle of the street, illuminated by neon streaming from the windows around him. “Is this a bar?”
> 
> Suga’s grip on Daichi’s hand tightened, pulling Daichi after him. “What did you say earlier about going along with whatever crazy plan I had? You’re not going to back down on your word, now are you Daichi? I thought you were better than that.”
> 
> “I don’t like bars. The last time I was in one was…” Daichi trailed off, his reddened face giving him away.
> 
> “The velvet suit incident, wasn’t it,” Suga finished, his speculative but teasing tone revealing that it wasn’t a guess. 
> 
> Daichi shuffled beside him. “Uhh…”
> 
> Suga grinned. “Oh Daichi, how are you ever going to get over the trauma if you don’t overcome it? And that’s exactly what we’re doing here tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY HEY HEY FRIENDS! Surprise! No theme song for this chapter, but that's because there's an extra special song in this chapter. So buckle up and get ready! See you at the bottom!
> 
> Also, this chapter has not been beta read, so I apologize sincerely for any spelling or grammar mistakes!

For some reason unbeknownst to him, people tended to think of Sugawara Koushi as an angel.

He really had no clue how they always seemed to come to that conclusion.

Maybe it was his appearance, the silver hair that reflected moonlight and the pale skin and his soft appearance.

Maybe it was based on their first impression of him, the melodic lit of his voice, his soft laughter, the way his body seemed to sway when he moved.

Maybe that was it.

How wrong they were.

 _They should have known better,_ he always found himself thinking.

_It’s not like I tried to give them the wrong impression._

It just…

Happened.

He’d tried to deter people from that way of thinking for a long time. Refusing compliments and comments about his angelic nature, his ethereal appearance. He’d tried for so long.

But it hadn’t worked.

“ _Awww, Suga, you’re so humble. What an angel.”_

He’d tried, with veiled insults and sarcastic remarks, to prove them wrong, but that hadn’t worked either.

But eventually, after years and years of growing tired repeating the words with every encounter, he had come to realize something.

It would never work.

No matter what he did, he wasn‘t strong enough to change the words that people attached to him, the personality they had molded for him and covered in velcro, sticking it to every part of his body until he was no longer himself, but rather a covered conglomeration of everything they wanted him to be.

Everything they believed him to be.

_“You’re an angel, Suga.”_

_“Look at this darling.”_

_“You’re the nicest person I’ve ever met.”_

Maybe they were right, in some way. He wasn’t bold enough to prove them wrong, strong enough to dismantle the personality they had tied to him with lead weights, placing him on top of a pillar, high above the ground.

If he had tried to climb down, the weight pulling at his ankles would have been one with gravity, like opposing sides of magnets, pulled together as he fell to his death with nothing but smooth carved stone to hold on to.

He wasn’t strong enough.

He was weak. He was soft.

So maybe it was better to fall into the personality they had created for him, to let himself become it.

If he just played the part, smiling to hide his fear, maybe it would become so normal that it became true.

There really was no use in fighting it, after all.

It wouldn’t have mattered.

It was easier this way.

Safer.

It’s not like it mattered, anyway. They never stayed long enough to bask in the shade of the pillar they had placed him on, high up where he couldn’t get down, high up where the sunlight hit him and covered him in a rim light too magnificent to look at clearly.

It really was easy to make an angel.

Especially when it was impossible to look for long.

They always left after a while, having taken in the sight for long enough, nothing more than a piece in a museum people paid to wander through, pausing for seconds to look before moving to the next piece, the next room.

So it didn’t much matter what they thought of him.

No one mattered enough to him either.

Suga rolled over, the morning light still nothing more than a pink tinge on the horizon, the interior of his car still shrouded in the inky blackness of the lingering night, and came nose to nose with Daichi, who was still under the spell of sleep, his eyelashes fluttering under the new warmness of Suga’s breath.

Well, no one until now.

There was one exception.

Maybe two if he counted Tooru.

But Tooru didn’t count, they‘d known each other since they were kids, before the words of adults had reached his ears.

Daichi’s arm was wrapped around his waist, and Suga relished in the heavy warmth of something solid, of something alive.

He scooted closer, till they were chest to chest, and dropped a soft kiss to Daichi’s cold nose before Daichi’s sleep controlled arms pulled Suga into his chest tighter. Their legs were tangled, alive even through two layers of sweats.

Suga had never felt so safe.

It had been two weeks since they set out. Two weeks of laughter and coffee and stolen kisses.

Two weeks of safety.

Two weeks of comfort.

Two weeks of Daichi.

Two weeks of motion and stillness mixing like the paint on his canvas.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Hmmm, Suga…”

Suga giggled into Daichi’s chest as the arms around him tightened.

“Daichi, you’re squishing me. I can’t breathe.”

Daichi’s eyes were still closed, still lidded in sleep, but a smile crooked his mouth. “Hmm, it’s okay. I can just give you my breath for a bit.”

Suga’s laughter was stilled as Daichi’s mouth covered his, as he felt the smile still etched on Daichi’s mouth under his.

It was a lazy kiss, soft and slow, pressed into each other as the morning light began to rise outside the car, their hands roaming over each other like they were daring to touch something delicate, something priceless.

Daichi’s hand drifted up into Suga’s tangled hair, his fingers playing with the strands while Suga’s hands rested on his biceps, holding him in a grip that wasn’t possessive or fearful, but trusting. Daichi placed delicate kisses on either side of Suga’s mouth before drifting up to return the nose kiss that had woken him.

“As much as I want to stay like this all day, we should get going. It’s getting late.”

“Aww, Daichi, you’re no fun. Let’s just stay here forever. What’s the harm in that?”

Daichi chuckled, dropping a chaste kiss on Suga’s mouth to quiet him. “My reasoning is entirely selfish, I’m afraid. The harm is that you don’t get your coffee and you’re a real devil when you’re caffeine deprived.”

Suga flashed his most angelic grin, one perfected by years of practice, before slipping his ice-cold fingers up the hem on Daichi’s sweatshirt, touching Daichi’s bare stomach with the lightest of touches. “What on earth are you talking about? I’m an angel, Daichi.”

Jerking away from the sudden coldness, Daichi shook his head. “Whoever told you that? I need to find them and get them checked out if they think that’s even remotely true.”

Suga blinked. “You don’t think I’m an angel?”

Daichi buried his nose in Suga’s sweater, huffing into his chest. “Not one bit.”

_Wow._

“Well, you got me there. Now let’s go get some coffee before I turn into a devil like you claim.”

Daichi nodded, his nose still pressed into Suga’s sweater. Suga let his fingers run through Daichi’s short hair, savoring the feel of Daichi’s warmth like the last bit of a latte.

“Dai, I can’t go get coffee unless you move.”

“I know, I just…”

“Daichi, it was your idea in the first place.”

“Just five more minutes…”

Suga ruffled Daichi’s hair, giggling at the contented huff into his chest. “Dai, we really should go. Don’t want a devil on your hands, now do you? I’ve got plans for tonight to show you just how devilish I can be.”

Daichi pulled away, his cheeks flushed a crimson Suga had grown accustomed to in the last two weeks, one he could mix perfectly in his head. Daichi sputtered.

“Not like that. Get your head out of the gutter, you perv. I have something to take you to.”

Daichi sighed, resting his chin on top of Suga’s head. “Please, just a few more moments? I promise I’ll go along with whatever crazy plan you have if we can stay like this for a bit longer.”

Suga knew the kiss he placed on Daichi’s soft mouth was more than enough of an answer.

“Suga, what the hell is this?” Daichi stopped in the middle of the street, illuminated by neon streaming from the windows around him. “Is this a bar?”

Suga’s grip on Daichi’s hand tightened, pulling Daichi after him. “What did you say earlier about going along with whatever crazy plan I had? You’re not going to back down on your word, now are you Daichi? I thought you were better than that.”

“I don’t like bars. The last time I was in one was…” Daichi trailed off, his reddened face giving him away.

“The velvet suit incident, wasn’t it,” Suga finished, his speculative but teasing tone revealing that it wasn’t a guess.

Daichi shuffled beside him. “Uhh…”

Suga grinned. “Oh Daichi, how are you ever going to get over the trauma if you don’t overcome it? And that’s exactly what we’re doing here tonight.”

He grabbed Daichi’s arms, pulling him behind him. He purposefully ignored looking at the sign taped to the bar’s door, waiting for Daichi to notice it himself.

“Suga, wait, what do you mean by ‘overcome?’ Suga-”

Daichi’s voice stopped suddenly, cut off by something. Suga didn’t have to turn around to know that Daichi had seen the sign. “Suga, you didn’t.”

“I did indeed. Like you said, I’m no angel.”

“But karaoke? Suga, I can’t!”

“Daichi, I believe in you! You can conquer your fears! Slash em down! Grab them by the horns and take them to the ground!”

“I don’t know if I can.”

Suga narrowed his focus in on Daichi’s face, flushed both by the warm and electric red glow of the neon open sign above him and by the nervousness creeping up through his veins to his cheeks. Velvet dusted his lashes, trembling even in the stoic and brave front Daichi had placed in front of him. But the unease in his eyes that was betrayed by the neon glow burned bright behind his fortress.

“Dai,” Suga whispered, reaching up to cup Daichi’s cheek in his palm, feeling the heat and dampness of skin. “I’m never going to force you to do something you’re not comfortable with. I’m here to push you to the edge of your comfort zone, but it’s not my job to push you over the edge. You have to jump yourself.”

Soft honey eyes connected with his, sending his heart into a panic reminiscent of a caffeine overdose.

“Suga, you’re the best, you know that? Thank you, for not trying to force me to do something I don’t want to.” Daichi hesitated, his voice cracking. “That… that means a lot. Believe me.”

Lifting up onto balls of his feet to reach Daichi’s face, Suga placed a soft kiss on his cheek. As he began to pull away, Daichi leaned down to catch him, sweeping him back up for a searing kiss.

Suga was suddenly immensely grateful for the darkness.

“Now, I’m not going to force you to sing, but let’s go watch some strangers embarrass themselves, hmm?”

Daichi nodded, his cheek resting on Suga’s head. “That sounds nice. But anything is nice as long as it’s with you.”

Smacking Daichi’s shoulder with his palm, Suga laughed, though the feeling that conquered his chest and stomach didn’t match the teasing tone of his voice. “You’re such a dork.”

Daichi kisses his scrunched nose. “But I’m your dork.”

“Come on then, let’s go.”

Pulling Daichi into the bar behind him, Suga blinked to let his eyes adjust to the bright neon lights encompassing the room. The whole bar was covered in them, and most looked vintage, eclectic pieces found at antique stores or garage sales. The karaoke had already started, a short redhead bouncing around the stage while screaming the lyrics to whatever song was playing, ignoring the laughter and chuckles of the bar patrons.

They ordered their drinks and found an empty table near the front, soon realizing why when a spray of spit descended on them from the redhead on stage, who hadn’t seemed to notice.

Suga stirred his drink, taking a few sips till he stood up.

“Where are you going?”

He couldn’t hear Daichi’s voice over the untranslatable screaming of the boy, but Daichi emphasized the words well enough for Suga to be able to read his lips.

“Bathroom,” Suga mouthed back, gesturing with his thumb to the back of the bar.

Daichi nodded.

Suga was not going to the bathroom, and he felt a bit bad about lying to Daichi, but his guilt dissolved once he made his way back to the table, seeing Daichi tapping his foot to the upbeat pop song that thrummed through the bar between performers.

“What did I miss?”

Daichi pushed Suga’s drink towards him, and Suga realized that Daichi had pulled it towards him while Suga had been in the bathroom to protect it.

_Cute._

Ok, maybe he felt a bit bad about lying, but it would all be worth it in just a few minutes.

“Nothing much. That short dude with the blond bangs almost fell off the stage but the big guy with the long hair and beard caught him, and then they ran off somewhere together mid-song, and everyone was so in shock that the song just kept playing with nobody singing till it ended. It was great.”

Suga chuckled into his drink.

He had seen the whole thing himself, but watching Daichi’s eyes crinkle and his shoulders shake with laughter as he recounted the story was far better than watching it happen.

They watched a few more performers, none of which made anything close to a memorable moment, but were entertaining nonetheless. When a name he recognized from the list sauntered onto the stage, Suga motioned to the bathroom once more.

“You okay, Suga?”

“Uh, yeah, I just… I always have to pee when I drink.”

Another lie.

Daichi just nodded, leaving a soft kiss on his cheek.

Suga really should’ve felt bad about it.

He really should’ve.

He didn’t like lying to Daichi, but if Daichi had known what he was planning, it wouldn’t have been as exciting.

This time he actually did make it to the inside of the bathroom, leaning close to the mirror as he spread the silver glitter over the ridges of his cheekbones and the tip of his nose, running the remaining bit into the silver of his hair. He couldn’t see it there in the fluorescent light of the bathroom, but he knew that the neon spotlights would prove its existence without hesitation, turning him into a human disco ball of sorts.

Nervousness fluttered in his chest, stage fright he hadn’t felt in years, as he made his way to the side of the stage, letting the worker know his name. But looking over at Daichi, sitting alone in the front, his face softened and grinning as he watched the people on stage attempting to harmonize to a Queen song, Suga felt confidence rise in his veins, not taking over the nerves but, like a tide lapping on the wet sands of a beach, breaching the surface.

He could do this.

The performance ended, and Daichi turned his head towards the bathroom, searching for Suga, worry crossing his features.

For Daichi.

“Thank you for that compelling performance!” The MCs voice rang through the air, sending a shiver of goosebumps up Suga’s bare arms. “And now, let’s welcome our next brave performer, Sugar!”

The lights on stage flashed, dizzying as Suga ascended the stairs, ducking between the roving spotlights to avoid detection from watchful eyes. His feet landed on the bright neon ‘x’ at the center of the worn stage, the music started, the opening notes vibrating the world around him.

The spotlight hit him, a gasp from the audience as an array of rainbows reflected off him, turning the stage into a kaleidoscopic panorama.

The opening raced towards the first verse.

Suga pulled the microphone to his lips, his eyes finding Daichi’s, wide in shock and awe. Jumping from the center spotlight to the pink one beside him with grace, Suga felt the vibrations in his throat as he joined in with the guitar.

“Got a figure like a pin-up, got a figure like a doll  
Don't care if you think I'm dumb, I don't care at all  
Candy bear, sweetie pie, wanna be adored  
I'm the guy you'd die for

I'll chew you up and I'll spit you out  
'Cause that's what young love is all about  
So pull me closer and kiss me hard  
I'm gonna pop your bubblegum heart”

Suga swayed his hips to the lyrics, popping them on beat as he sashayed from spotlight to spotlight, from one mess of color to another, his eyes never leaving Daichi.

Daichi was frozen, unblinking, his mouth parted slightly as he followed Suga with his eyes.

“I'm Miss Sugar Pink, liquor, liquor lips  
Hit me with your sweet love, steal me with a kiss  
I'm Miss Sugar Pink, liquor, liquor lips  
I'm gonna be your bubblegum bitch  
I'm gonna be your bubblegum bitch.”

Suga knew he had a good voice, it was never something he’d been self-conscious about, and Tooru had tried but failed to convince him to pursue music in some way, but he had always been content to keep his voice to the shower, to the interior of his car where no one could see him. There he was safe, far away from unwanted opinions and attention, still left up somewhere alone on a pillar he could never escape from.

“Queentex, latex, I'm your wonder maid  
Life gave me some lemons so I made some lemonade  
Soda pop, soda pop, baby, here I come  
Straight to number one

Oh, dear diary, I met a boy  
He made my doll heart light up with joy  
Oh, dear diary, we fell apart  
Welcome to the life of Electra Heart”

The glitter had been intentional, an ode to the image of an angel he had stopped trying to run from long ago. A middle finger of sorts.

His eyes never left Daichi’s, focused on nothing else in the bar, not the patrons or the workers or the whoops and hollers meant to hype him up.

Only Daichi.

Daichi was all that mattered.

Daichi, who had singlehandedly torn the angel facade from him, seen what hid underneath, and stayed anyway.

“I'm Miss Sugar Pink, liquor, liquor lips  
Hit me with your sweet love, steal me with a kiss  
I'm Miss Sugar Pink, liquor, liquor lips  
I'm gonna be your bubblegum bitch  
I'm gonna be your bubblegum bitch.”

He jumped to the yellow spotlight at the curve of the stage, the spot right in front of the table he had been sitting at only a few minutes before. He rolled his hips and shoulders to the beat, landing with a single motion in front of Daichi, who was still frozen.

Suga crouched down, the back of his heels digging into his butt as he lowered himself as much as possible till he was eye to eye with Daichi.

Daichi gulped.

“I think I want your, your American tan  
Oh, oh, oh  
I think you're gonna be my biggest fan  
Oh, oh, oh”

Reaching out, he let his fingers trace the underside of Daichi’s jaw before popping him on the nose, leaving a glob of silver glitter that shimmered under the yellow light bouncing off of Suga.

He could almost hear Daichi’s breath, even surrounded by the noises of the bar, the cheering, the heavy music thumping through his body where his feet connected with the stage.

Shooting Daichi the angelic grin from before, he launched himself back, bounding across the stage, hopping from one light to another like a kid on a chalk-drawn hopscotch board, like someone crossing a river on wet stones.

“I'm Miss Sugar Pink, liquor, liquor lips  
Hit me with your sweet love, steal me with a kiss  
I'm Miss Sugar Pink, liquor, liquor lips  
I'm gonna be your bubblegum bitch  
I'm gonna be your bubblegum bitch  
I'm Miss Sugar Pink, liquor, liquor lips  
Hit me with your sweet love, steal me with a kiss  
I'm Miss Sugar Pink, liquor, liquor lips  
I'm gonna be your bubblegum bitch  
I'm gonna be your bubblegum bitch.”

As he hit the last note, Suga slid to his knees, the rough texture of the stage burning his skin through the rips in his jeans, but he didn’t notice, the adrenaline flowing through him sending a haze over every nerve in his body.

The room was cheering, the little redhead from before jumping onto a table before getting pulled off by an angry-looking raven-haired man with a scowl. He tried to regain his breath as his chest heaved, sweat rolling down his back as the spotlights burned his skin, the glitter on his face no doubt spreading as he breathed.

But none of that mattered. Nothing else mattered as he focused his eyes on Daichi, who slowly stood to his feet, his eyes never once leaving Suga.

Suga crawled to the edge of the stage, his nose inches from Daichi’s, as he grinned, and then laughed.

“You’re crazy,” Daichi whispered, smiling softly, reaching up to pull Suga’s face closer to his.

“I know.”

 _“You’re an angel,”_ they had always said.

Maybe they were right, in some way. He wasn’t bold enough to prove them wrong, strong enough to dismantle the personality they had tied to him with lead weights, placing him on top of a pillar, high above the ground.

If he had tried to climb down, the weight pulling at his ankles would have been one with gravity, like opposing sides of magnets, pulled together as he fell to his death with nothing but smooth carved stone to hold on to.

He wasn’t strong enough.

He was weak. He was soft.

So maybe it was better to fall into the personality they had created for him, to let himself become it.

If he just played the part, smiling to hide his fear, maybe it would become so normal that it became true.

There really was no use in fighting it, after all.

It wouldn’t have mattered.

It was easier this way.

Safer.

It’s not like it mattered, anyway. They never stayed long enough to bask in the shade of the pillar they had placed him on, high up where he couldn’t get down, high up where the sunlight hit him and covered him in a rim light too magnificent to look at clearly.

It really was easy to make an angel.

Especially when it was impossible to look for long.

They always left after a while, having taken in the sight for long enough, nothing more than a piece in a museum people paid to wander through, pausing for seconds to look before moving to the next piece, the next room.

So it didn’t much matter what they thought of him.

No one mattered enough to him either.

But Daichi had entered the room where he was displayed and had stayed, had watched as others came and went without so much as a backward glance.

And he had seen Suga.

Truly seen him.

He had scaled the polished exterior of the pedestal, finding the places where cracks sent fissures through the stone, weakening its marble sophistication, had found the places he could grip with his fingertips to pull himself up to the top, to the place where Suga sat, confined within the expectations of those who traversed the room.

And he had reached Suga, had pulled Suga into his chest, and had jumped, braving the uncertainty of a smooth landing.

Suga didn’t mind the expanse of the fall so much. Because in it, he was safe. He was surrounded. He was wanted.

He was seen.

And for the first time in his life, the expectations velcroed to him began to weaken their hold, falling off with the pushes of wind that come with falling, floating out into the breeze away from him, disappearing somewhere down below, replaced instead with something he was still beginning to learn.

For the first time in his life, like Icarus as he fell to the sea, Sugawara Koushi had fallen in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there friends! How ya doing? So, this scene ended up being too long, so I had to split it into two separate chapters, so get ready for part 2 of karaoke shenanigans next week! As always, drop a comment below, yell at me, joining me in screaming into the void, whatever floats your boat!
> 
> PS. The song Suga sings is Bubblegum B**** by Marina and the Diamond, listen to it for the full effect!


	14. Anchor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Your turn,” Suga whispered into his ear, pulling away from the kiss, an angelic smile plastered on his face.
> 
> “Suga-”
> 
> “What, you’re gonna let me take all the glory? How kind of you.”
> 
> Suga’s arms encircled his waist, holding him in place as he leaned back to look at Daichi. 
> 
> “A true saint.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY HEY HEY WELCOME BACK FRIENDS! Sorry for not posting last weekend, I was sick (not covid, got tested) and didn't have the mental energy to do anything other than lay on the ground. I hope this chapter makes up for it! Hopefully!

Daichi had never been a spontaneous person.

He was known for his reliability, his dependability.

His ability to bring his friends back from the brink of too far, succeeding most of the time, save for the few times they chose to ignore his comments and proceeded to do it anyway, with predictable results.

They always seemed to listen to him better for a few months after.

Of course, eventually, they would get risky again, and the cycle would continue.

But they relied on him to pull them back when needed, a firm anchor in their sea of unpredictability, the only thing able to keep their boat from capsizing in the waves of regret and consequences.

He had always thought those popular tattoos were stupid, the ones with a swishing anchor and the flared words “refuse to sink” resting just under it, like that wasn’t the whole point of an anchor.

To sink.

He comfortably sank to the bottom of the sea, nestled in the sand far down in the depths of the dark ocean so many feared.

And there he stayed, his hands grasping firmly on the chain attached to the boat above him, thrashing to and fro in the storm, seconds from becoming nothing more than a ghost wreck at the bottom of the ocean for divers years in the future to tell stories about, lit by only the dancing flames of a fire, terror and ghosts finding new ways to adhere themselves to the stories each time it was repeated and told until the emerging story didn’t resemble the true tale at all.

But that’s what stories were. Exaggerations told in hushed tones around campfires, sung in the halls of theaters and repeated by audiences to friends and lovers with new twists.

And that’s what Daichi did, sitting alone in the coffee shop, laptop in front of him. He took stories he’d been told, bits and pieces of people he’d seen or observed, and twisted them into new stories, echoing in the empty cathedral of his mind, reverberating around the bare walls before it tripped out onto the page, a clumsy dancer learning the steps to a dance for the first time, refined with practice and critique.

That’s what he did. He told ghost stories, echoes and shadows of people and places and lives he hadn’t lived. He knew they weren’t anything like their source material, he knew they were nothing like him.

He was reliable.

Dependable.

Firm and strong.

The anchor in the sea that braved the impending threat of the waves, solely to keep his friends afloat in their madness.

But that wasn’t him.

He didn’t try to find his footing on the rocking of the vessel above him. He didn’t grasp the sails, the wheel, screaming without fear into the wind as if it paid any heed. He didn’t hold tight to the treasure map that boasted of untold discoveries. He didn’t step into new lands after weeks at sea, his legs failing beneath him unnoticed as he gazed into the strange new isle of discovery.

That wasn’t him.

He was content to let his friends take on that role.

He was content to be the anchor when they needed him to be.

He had no desire to join in their quests, their adventures, their spoils and discoveries.

But as Suga kneeled in front of him, eyes wide and smiling, the neon lights of the stage haloing him in incandescent light, he came to a realization.

Suga was an ocean and Daichi was trying not to drown.

Suga was the sea. The waves. The storm.

A reckless wave in a sea, always in motion, never still, pulled back and forth by the moon in the sky, crashing again and again into the shore, retreating only to come back with equal force.

He lived without fear of anything, laughing without hesitation at the unknown, throwing his waves with exuberance, with passion. He moved, pulled by nothing but the moon and the existence of gravity, wild and reckless and terrifying yet shockingly beautiful. He was the kind of person that made sailors go crazy, writers inspired, poems written. He was the kind of person who drew everyone to him, every passerby and passing glance, every awestruck child and watchful mother. There could be documentaries about him, about the startling clarity and mysteries of his character, the unknown of his depths, the parts so deep and dark that even the bravest divers sang of their terror.

He was everything Daichi had been fighting against for years.

Sugawara Koushi was born an ocean.

And Daichi was scared of the riptide.

Suga grinned at him, tapping Daichi’s nose once more, and Daichi’s pulled Suga off the stage and into his arms.

He had never loved the ocean more.

“That was amazing, Suga. You’re amazing.”

Suga didn’t answer, just grasped at his collar and pulled him down into a lingering kiss, and Daichi suddenly didn’t care about the people still watching them. He didn’t hear them whoop and holler as Suga deepened the kiss, turning his mouth just so, his warm fingers running on the muscles of Daichi’s back over his shirt.

“Your turn,” Suga whispered into his ear, pulling away from the kiss, an angelic smile plastered on his face.

“Suga-”

“What, you’re gonna let me take all the glory? How kind of you.”

Suga’s arms encircled his waist, holding him in place as he leaned back to look at Daichi.

“A true saint.”

Daichi could say no, he knew he could. Suga would probably tease him for a bit, but wouldn’t push him, Suga’s promise echoing in his mind.

_“I’m never going to force you to do something you’re not comfortable with. I’m here to push you to the edge of your comfort zone, but it’s not my job to push you over the edge. You have to jump yourself.”_

He didn’t know if he could jump.

The cliff was high, the edge menacing, the bottom unseen, hidden beneath a shrouding of ominous clouds and mist.

But maybe he just needed a push.

“Suga, you said you wouldn’t push me, but listen to me now. I need a push, and I’m giving you explicit permission to be the one to do it.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Suga laughed, pulling Daichi to the sign-up table near the restrooms.

Oh, so that was where Suga had gone.

It made sense.

“Hi, this is Daichi, and he wants to sign up.”

The worker behind the table looked up at him, his eyes flicking back and forth between the two, realization dawning as he realized who Suga was.

The man took a puff of his cigarette, blowing it in Daichi’s direction.

Most likely on purpose.

“What ya gonna sing? I need you to sign this waiver first, just in case something happens while you’re up there. We’ve had too many people fall off when they’re too drunk so we have to be safe. If you fall off or twist your ankle or stub your toe, it’s on you.”

Daichi gulped, nodding.

The man slid him a piece of paper that swum with legalese he’d seen time and time again but never comprehended, his manager the one dealing with any suspicious terms or wording.

“Oh, I- Okay.”

The man pointed at the spot for Daichi to sign, his cigarette held loosely in his other hand. His bleached hair was pushed back from his face with a headband, and while his look and gruffness may have been intimidating to someone softer, Daichi tried not to be fazed.

He was strong,

He was dependable.

He was an anchor.

And his heart was about to burst out of his chest from the nervousness pounding on his ribcage.

But he was strong.

He signed with a sweeping motion, a motion practiced till it was perfect, practiced till he could do it without looking, till he could talk to the awestruck fan in front of him as he signed the book held out to him with gusto and confidence.

It was wobbly, a first.

Shoot, he really was nervous.

But then there was a pressure on his back, welcoming and warm, a body he trusted completely, a chin on his shoulder, a hand rubbing comfortingly on his arm.

He was safe.

“Pick out a song from this book here.”

Daichi perused the list of songs, the words swimming in front of him. There were too many words, too many lines that jumbled together. He couldn’t make out a single one.

“Dai, are you okay? It’s not too late to say no. You can back out at any time, no questions asked.”

Daichi shook his head, forcing his eyes to focus on the song list on the table. “I can do this.”

His words came out less confident than he would have liked, but they came out at least.

“You’ve got me cheering for you, no matter what.”

Daichi blushed.

“Stop being grossly sweet and pick a song,” the man grumbled, though he didn’t seem to be as mad as his comment suggested.

Daichi turned back to the book, pointing at one after a few seconds.

“A classic, I like it,” Suga quipped from behind him, his chin still resting on Daichi’s shoulder.

The man rolled his eyes. “It’s like I haven’t heard this one multiple times a night. Go on, you’re after that weird guy over there with the annoying red hair. ‘Miracle Boy,’ he calls himself. I’ll be grateful for his to be over with. He comes every time and sings the same damn song.”

He gestured over to a lanky man in the corner, who’s lips were turned up in a comical way, his eyes wide and focused.

Well, this would be fun.

Suga pulled him over to the side of the stage, lingering by him as a few more people went, rubbing his hand absentmindedly up and down Daichi’s arm.

Daichi tried to match his breathing to the rhythm.

Finally, the redheaded man bounded up, pausing for only a second before launching into a horrible and off-pitch but energetic rendition of “Never Gonna Give You Up.”

As the man neared the end, the hand that had been a constant weight on Daichi’s arm disappeared, and Daichi desperately looked around for Suga, who seemed to have faded into nothing.

His heart rate picked up, his breathing quickened.

He felt like he was going to float away, caught in the waves he had fought against for so long.

The man on stage finished with a dramatic flair, a big, stoic man at one of the tables standing and clapping sincerely. No one else moved.

Daichi couldn’t breathe.

His eyes frantically searched the bar, the darkness and neon lights blurring together until he couldn’t see anything. He couldn’t hear anything, his rapid breathing drowning out any noise that surrounded him.

Suga.

Where was Suga?

“YOU GOT THIS DAI! GO GET EM!”

Whirling around, Daichi’s eyes focused in on the figure standing on top of one of the tables, bouncing up and down and laughing as he waved, multiple workers running to pull him off.

Daichi smiled.

He could do this.

Once Suga was sitting once more, back at their table that was still somehow miraculously empty even in the bustling of the customers, Daichi stepped up.

“And up next, we have Just Daichi!”

He could see Suga’s wide grin and hear his tinkling laughter even in the darkness and noise.

Stepping out onto the stage, his heart beating at a pace he didn’t think possible, Daichi made his way over to the microphone set up on a stand. Clumsily trying to adjust it, he tried to breathe in and out, his eyes zeroed in on Suga.

The music started.

“Ooh, you can dance, you can jive  
Having the time of your life  
Ooh, see that girl, watch that scene  
Digging the dancing queen.”

He wasn’t a good singer by any twisting of the word. He could carry a tune, but he was always a half a note off or a bit flat when he shouldn't be. He never sang in front of anyone, save for the one horrible moment in school when his friend convinced him to join choir and he fainted on stage 3 measures into the song at their first performance. He was content to keep his singing to the unseen interior of his car, the confines of his shower.

He had managed to do so until that one memorable (or not so memorable, since he couldn’t remember a lick of it) night of drunken karaoke.

That had been more than enough to convince him he had made a good decision in never letting his off key notes see the light of day.

Until now.

He didn’t move around the stage like Suga did, he didn’t dance and sway with a confidence he had only dreamed about. He remained behind the mic, his feet planting, his knees locked, his shoulders stiff.

“Friday night and the lights are low  
Looking out for a place to go  
Where they play the right music, getting in the swing  
You come to look for a king.”

Suga was cheering, even in his hesitation to do anything resembling the actual words of the song, anything other than just standing like a statue behind the mic.

Suga was swaying his hips to the music, laughing with his head back.

It was breathtaking.

Daichi couldn’t help but smile, his whole body loosening as a result. With a single gesture, Suga motioned for him to start swaying too, and ever so hesitant, Daichi obliged.

“Anybody could be that guy  
Night is young and the music's high  
With a bit of rock music, everything is fine  
You're in the mood for a dance  
And when you get the chance.”

Daichi was laughing now too, his voice cracking as he tried to keep up with the words.

“You are the dancing queen  
Young and sweet, only seventeen  
Dancing queen  
Feel the beat from the tambourine  
Oh, yeah.

You can dance, you can jive  
Having the time of your life  
Ooh, see that girl, watch that scene  
Digging the dancing queen.”

Suga grabbed a hold of the short redheaded boy who was laughing and swinging along to the music, spinning him around in circles on the tip of his finger while Suga screamed along with the lyrics, his head upturned in glee.

Daichi’s smile grew.

His motion did too.

He grabbed the mic from the holder, moving to the front of the stage, closer to where Suga was discoing with the boy, the neon lights still reflecting off the remaining glitter on his face and hair.

A disco ball.

“You're a teaser, you turn 'em on  
Leave them burning and then you're gone  
Looking out for another, anyone will do  
You're in the mood for a dance  
And when you get the chance.”

Suga was looking at him now, dancing towards the stage. When he was close enough, Daichi stuck his hand out, off the edge of the stage, for Suga to spin off of. The light touch of Suga’s warm hand on his as Suga pushed off into a twirl sent currents through him, waves of courage that overtook his fear.

He leaned down farther, screaming the lyrics now as he directed them at Suga.

“You are the dancing queen  
Young and sweet, only seventeen  
Dancing queen  
Feel the beat from the tambourine  
Oh, yeah.”

Suga grabbed his hand, and Daichi pulled up and back, Suga landing on the stage with him, laughing the whole time, his body a wave of motion in a sea of joy.

Suga spun Daichi around him, Daichi’s voice cracking as he laughed.

No one seemed to care though.

They just clapped along, a rhythm of hands and a wave started by the tall, lanky man who had sung just before, the man waving his hands to keep them on beat, like a conductor in an orchestra of half-drunk performers.

“You can dance, you can jive  
Having the time of your life  
Ooh, see that girl, watch that scene  
Digging the dancing queen.”

Suga spun Daichi once more, pushing himself off into a twirl in the process and they fell together to the floor of the stage, screaming the final line together into the mic.

“Digging the dancing queen!”

Daichi was laughing, Suga was too, sprawled out on top of him. The little redhead and the lanky man both cheered and whooped, screaming for an encore.

Daichi just shook his head in defeat and exhaustion.

“Alright you, get off the stage, your turn is done.”

Giggling, Daichi pulled Suga behind him as he stumbled off the stairs at the side of the stage.

“I’m going to go get a drink, do you want something?” Suga asked once they made their way back to the table.

“Yeah, sure. And a water too. Thanks, Suga.”

His phone buzzed angrily in his pocket as Suga moved towards the bar.

He pulled it out, glancing at the name on the bright screen.

Oh…

Crap.

“Hey, Hajime. What’s up?”

“What’s up? You tell me. You’ve been ignoring my messages for the last two weeks and seemed to have completely disappeared. Kuroo doesn’t even know where you are. Obviously, he knows something, but I can’t get a word out of him. Your deadline for the first draft of this book is coming up and you just went MIA on everyone. What do you think is up?”

Daichi winced at the gruff voice on the other end of the line. Iwaizumi was a great agent, a great friend, but he wasn’t one to be trifled with.

He’d made a horrible mistake.

“Sorry, Haj. I’ll get you the draft on time, you have my word. I’m sorry I didn’t respond to your messages, things just got away from me.”

“Well, you better pull them back right now, Daichi. You know how important this book is.”

Daichi lowered himself into his chair, resting his head in his free hand.

“I know. It won’t happen again.”

“It better not. Now, where are you? What is all the noise?”

“A bar…”

“A bar? You’re at a bar? What bar? Where?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Umm, nope.”

A sigh from the other end of the phone. “Just stay safe, Daichi. This is coming from your friend, not your agent. I trust you, but- this isn’t like you. What happened?”

Suga was making his way back towards the table, a drink in both hands, laughing at something the little redhead who was bouncing beside him was saying.

“Life happened, Haj. The inspiration I didn’t know I needed.”

Love.

“Okay, I get it. Just… keep in touch, okay Daichi?”

“I will,” Daichi whispered, hanging up as Suga neared.

“They’re about to finish for the night if you want a round two,” Suga laughed, nudging Daichi’s shoulder as he set the drinks on the table.

“I think I’ve had more than enough karaoke to last me a lifetime,” Daichi said, reaching for his drink.

“They asked me to do another one,” Suga grinned. “I guess I’m just so popular. Maybe I should change careers and become a pop star. I could definitely do it.”

“I don’t doubt that one bit.”

Daichi reached out to rest his hand on Suga’s, warm and familiar.

“Are you going to do another?”

Suga nodded. “Yeah, but not till the very end, and it’s not really karaoke. I asked if it was okay if I just sang something and they thought it would be a great way to close out the night.”

His thumb rubbed lazy circles on the back of Suga’s pale hand. “I look forward to it.”

As they watched the last few performers, Suga pulled his sketchbook from his bag, sketching intently, his eyes glancing to Daichi every few minutes. He tended to stick his tongue out the side of his mouth when he concentrated, and Daichi sat, awestruck, as he watched the hand alternate between broad sweeping strokes and short deliberate bursts, Suga slouching towards the sketchbook the more concentrated he became.

The performers on stage were ignored.

Daichi watched Suga for half an hour, the lights from the stage in front of them rotating and circling on Suga’s face and sketchbook, like light on a rippling wave, the glimmer of sun on tide pools.

“Alright, thanks to everyone who came out tonight! We’re done with our karaoke but we asked Sugar to come back for an encore to close us out, so let’s give a big round of applause for him as he makes his way up!”

Jerking with a start from his concentration, Suga dropped his sketchbook on the table, open, and winked at Daichi before standing and sauntering to the entrance of the stage.

Daichi desperately wanted to look at whatever it was Suga had been sketching, but knew he should ask Suga first.

He knew how it was to have someone try to look at something not meant to be public without consent.

Instead, he turned to the stage.

“Hey, guys. Thanks for having me back. So, we’re going to do something a bit different if that’s okay. And a cappella. Sorry about that. I actually wrote this over the past few weeks, and it still needs a lot of work, but if you guys will allow me to be awkward and honest with you, and would allow me to attempt to sing it, I will be forever in your debt.”

The crowd cheered their answer.

Daichi’s eyes never left Suga, his mouth unmoving as the people around him continued to declare their support. Suga met his eyes, and Daichi nodded, his lips upturned.

He’d never seen Suga look this nervous before.

He’d never seen Suga look this fragile, this small.

“Thank you, guys. This is for the person who showed me that it’s okay to stay still.”

Daichi gulped.

Suga leaned into the mic.  
“The last two years, I haven't slowed down  
It's been wheels up, wheels down  
Tryna gain a little ground  
Most nights, I lay down my head  
And I'm grateful, but I miss my friends  
Been a little bit sad so I called up a doctor  
Didn't want his pills, just someone to talk to  
Still, he wrote me a script  
But it ain't gonna fix the human condition

Doesn't everyone cry, cry at the stars?  
Doesn't everyone try way too damn hard?”

It was soft and slow, melodic and ethereal. The words slipping from Suga’s mouth dripped down to the floor, covering every exposed surface with their power, even in the way his voice quivered and shook.

Suga slid down to the floor with them, till he was sitting on the edge of the stage, his eyes blazing into Daichi’s.

“You got a heart like mine  
I can name every color  
You make me feel like I'm  
Not going insane  
And when you're by my side  
Oh, I get a little bit better  
Hold me and let's be lonely together  
Hold me and let's be lonely together.”

Daichi’s heart was bursting, it’s frail framework caught in the siege of the stormy waves, the power of the ocean.

Suga was singing to him, soft and slow, like no one else was in the room, like he couldn’t see anything but Daichi.

There was something etched in the features of his face, something that made Daichi ache inside.

“Kiss my face when I'm staring off into space  
Know what I'm thinking and I don't gotta say it  
You just pull the curtains and turn down the lights  
Put out the fire in my mind

Doesn't everyone want to just be understood?  
Look into another's eyes and be recognized?”

He’d heard Suga humming this tune to himself when he didn’t think Daichi wasn’t listening, at night in the car when he thought Daichi was asleep, as he painted, when he drove in silence.

Each and every one of those moments was suddenly his favorite.

There was no one else.

And there never would be.

“'Cause you got a heart like mine  
I can name every color  
You make me feel like I'm  
Not going insane  
And when you're by my side  
Oh, I get a little bit better  
Hold me and let's be lonely together, mmm  
Hold me and let's be lonely together.”

Suga wasn’t the fleeting ocean breeze, the taste of salt that lingered for a moment until it was forgotten under the taste of ice cream or sunscreen accidentally swallowed.

Suga was the ocean. Permanent. Steadfast.

Forever.

Everyone was looking at him, everyone knew.

He let his eyes drift down to the sketchbook, unable to look up into the lights any longer.

He didn’t mean to look, but the strokes and curves of the drawing were too familiar to ignore.

It was him. A sketch of his face, rough and messy but undoubtedly him. His eyes were closed and his mouth was wide, his smile stretching his cheeks into the creases of his eyes.

Suga had drawn him, the moment he was on stage when he had first laughed at Suga’s dancing to his off-key rendition of the classic song.

Suga paused in his song, humming along to absent instruments, a pause in the crescendo of a crashing wave.

“You got a heart like mine  
I can name every color  
You make me feel like I'm  
Not going insane  
And when you're by my side  
Oh, I get a little bit better  
Hold me and let's be lonely together, mmm  
Hold me and let's be lonely together.”

His eyes never left Daichi’s even as he finished, his voice nothing more than a whisper.

The audience cheered, clapping and whooping, a startling contrast to the softness of Suga’s voice.

But Daichi didn’t hear them.

No, he didn’t hear anything.

He met Suga halfway, grabbing the shorter man into his arms and pulling him into his chest. He could feel Suga’s tears on his shirt, but it didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered.

Daichi was reliable.

Dependable.

Firm and strong.

The anchor in the sea that braved the impending threat of the waves, solely to keep others afloat in their madness.

He didn’t try to find his footing on the rocking of the vessel above him. He didn’t grasp the sails, the wheel, screaming without fear into the wind as if it paid any heed. He didn’t hold tight to the treasure map that boasted of untold discoveries. He didn’t step into new lands after weeks at sea, his legs failing beneath him unnoticed as he gazed into the strange new isle of discovery.

That wasn’t him.

He was content to let others take on that role.

He was content to be the anchor when they needed him to be.

He had no desire to join in their quests, their adventures, their spoils and discoveries.

But as Suga reached up to kiss him, long and warm and secure, he knew with certainty what he had known deep down for a long.

Suga was an ocean and Daichi was trying not to drown.

Suga was the sea. The waves. The storm.

A reckless wave in a sea, always in motion, never still, pulled back and forth by the moon in the sky, crashing again and again into the shore, retreating only to come back with equal force.

He lived without fear of anything, laughing without hesitation at the unknown, throwing his waves with exuberance, with passion. He moved, pulled by nothing but the moon and the existence of gravity, wild and reckless and terrifying yet shockingly beautiful. He was the kind of person that made sailors go crazy, writers inspired, poems written. He was the kind of person who drew everyone to him, every passerby and passing glance, every awestruck child and watchful mother. There could be documentaries about him, about the startling clarity and mysteries of his character, the unknown of his depths, the parts so deep and dark that even the bravest divers sang of their terror.

He was everything Daichi had been fighting against for years.

But there was something else Daichi knew, something that had echoed in his head like a siren’s call, something that floated to his shores when he left them unguarded.

It was a scary thought, a terrifying realization, one that tugged at the corners of his brain, incessant and demanding, yet safe and welcome.

Suga tasted like strawberry, the artificial and too sweet flavor of his drink dancing on his tongue. Daichi pulled him closer till their bodies were flush, no space left between them for anything to pry them apart. He didn’t hear the screams of the people by them, the squeals of the redheaded boy who was bouncing up and down.

He could hear Suga’s breath catch as he laughed through the tears slipping down his face, could feel the hands that pulled at his head and lured him into the deep.

Breaking away to catch his breath, Suga laughed again, pushing his head into Daichi’s shoulder. Daichi pulled his face back up till their noses were touching, his hand cradling Suga’s warm cheek, his thumb rubbing circles on the mole under Suga’s left eye.

It was a terrifying thought, this thing he knew, this siren’s call.

But he knew it with certainty, even with the fear that followed, the storm clouds that loomed and threatened a newfound motion of the sea he had come so accustomed to the rocking of.

“I love you.”

Sugawara Koushi was born an ocean.

And Daichi would learn how to ride the riptide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome friends! Songs have been sung, confessions have been whispers, Iwa has absolutely no clue what is going on, things are great! So, obviously the song Daichi sang was ABBA's "Dancing Queen". And though it says that Suga wrote the song he sang, it's actually a song by Caitlyn Smith called ["Lonely Together"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bM4acVlwo-k). I found it a few weeks after writing the part where Suga asks Daichi if he wants to be lonely together and I just lost it and knew I had to include it, especially the part about knowing every color. I did change the first line very slightly to say "2 years" instead of "10 months." But basically, go listen to the song, it's absolutely incredible.
> 
> As always, I love love love hearing all of your thoughts! See ya next week!


	15. Flighty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, cold and lifeless, empty.
> 
> He was flighty.
> 
> That had always been a risk.
> 
> He knew it. 
> 
> But he had ignored it, pushed it away. 
> 
> Because he had fallen for Daichi. He had fallen and had forgotten what it felt like to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Walls](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DAUMCoD5I30)  
> All around your island  
> There's a barricade  
> It keeps out the danger  
> It holds in the pain  
> Sometimes you're happy  
> Sometimes you cry  
> Half of me is ocean  
> Half of me is sky  
> But you got a heart so big  
> It could crush this town  
> And I can't hold out forever  
> Even walls fall down
> 
> HEY HEY HEY WELCOME BACK FRIENDS! Hope yall had an awesome week! Shoutout to my sister for proofreading this chapter, you rock. 
> 
> I don't have much to say today, so see yall at the bottom!

Sugawara Koushi was born in motion.

He had always been like that, hurtling into tomorrow at breakneck speeds, rising into the air and diving to avoid anything that would threaten his motion, his movement.

His mother, with her loving arms wrapped around him and the familiar scent of lavender resting on her skin, had always equated him to a bird.

Free.

Lively.

Flighty.

He hadn’t liked that last part as much. There was something about it that seemed negative, some connotation hidden beneath the outermost shell of letters that shielded the truth: noncommittal.

He had always pushed that insinuation to the back of his head, in the hidden most parts where useless facts and math equations he’d never again use set up shop, settling into the shelves till dust covered them and they were forgotten completely.

Sometimes his mind would stumble upon the word accidentally when looking for something else, the wrong drink in a vending machine, and the word would rise and push up through his throat till it stilled on the tip of his tongue, spreading out till he couldn’t taste anything but bitter.

He didn’t like the word.

Flighty.

It implied that he was scared. Insecure. On guard.

It implied that he was unstable.

Volatile.

Skittish.

Inconsistent.

Unsteady.

Maybe it was true. Maybe he was all of those things. Maybe that was why he had packed up everything, kissed his mother goodbye, and drove off into the unknown two years ago.

Maybe it was true.

Flighty.

He was used to running. It was easier that way. Safer.

In the two years Suga had been on the road, only once had he stayed in one place more than one night. It threw off his motion, made him restless, quelled his free spirit. Staying more than one night led to stronger connections, to people and places and roads, and connections made it harder to leave when he needed to. So instead he made fleeting impressions, masquerading under the guise of connection.

It was easier this way.

Easier to leave.

To go.

To run.

To _fly._

But he had failed.

He’d made a fatal mistake.

He had stayed two nights.

He had done the very thing he had sworn he’d never do, he had given in to the one thing he’d been running from.

He could have walked out of that coffee shop that morning. It would have been easy. There were ample opportunities. He could have done it when the man claimed he was sitting at his table, he could have done it after he bought the man a new drink, he could have left at lunch, he even could have left when the man did, retreating to his car to drive into the next town for the night.

But he hadn’t.

Against everything in his body screaming for him to go, he hadn’t.

And that had been his mistake.

Suga had never liked stillness.

Stillness was uncomfortable.

Stillness was unsettling.

Stillness was scary.

Vulnerable.

Suga knew he would suffocate if he stopped moving.

Moving kept his body fighting, punching away all the things that threatened to harm him.

Moving kept away loneliness.

And loneliness was suffocating.

Loneliness was an invisible hand hidden somewhere inside him, twisting his insides into knots he couldn’t dream of untangling, knots he knew even his deft and lithe fingers couldn’t pick apart. Loneliness hid them deep within, in the places he couldn’t fit his hand in, places he couldn’t touch, places deep and dark enough that even with the aid of a searchlight, he couldn’t find.

Loneliness was killing him.

He had known it for a while, that all he was doing was running, that nothing that he did, no matter how far he drove or how many strangers he met and painted, that nothing would save him. The inevitability of his death, the loneliness, was hiding around every corner, ready to strike if he let his pace slow to anything less than a sprint, anything less than a full rocket towards something he couldn’t see.

But he’d been running for years, and his pace was beginning to slow and the loneliness he had been fleeing from was instead only gaining speed, fueled and fed by his desperation, by his tears, the ones he used to be able to hold back but now flowed freely when he sat alone in his car at night, hidden under the quilt his grandma had made him.

Eventually, the loneliness would catch up and he would slow to a halt, to a frozen state he couldn’t fight no matter how hard he tried, how much he screamed at his muscles to work, to run, to _move._

But stillness was inescapable, predestined from the beginning of time.

He had been foolish to think it would ever change.

That he would ever change.

He had found stillness in a man, in a person.

And he had become too comfortable.

Stillness was inescapable, predestined from the beginning of time.

All he was doing was prolonging it, hiding farther and farther from it till it had become something to be feared, something that would kill him.

Something that cradled loneliness in its outstretched palms.

But maybe he had made it this way. Maybe stillness had never been something to fear, but rather something gentle that would let his tears fall like raindrops to the ground below, something that would hold him in an all-encompassing embrace, something that would become the framework for what would shield him in warmth and release and safety.

Maybe he had been the one who had turned it into the monster it was now, the threat it had become.

It was his own fault, his own self-destructive nature.

He could never escape himself.

How stupid he had been. How foolish to think that Daichi would ever be anything more than a stranger he met in a coffee shop, a kind-hearted soul who had given him a place to stay when the air became cold enough for raindrops to turn to snow.

How stupid he had been.

How foolish to believe he would ever be anything to Daichi.

He was nothing.

The loneliness in his stomach twisted, cackling gleefully as it wove another untangleable knot in the recesses of his heart.

He would never be anything more than nothing.

Suffocating.

He was a wisp. Fleeting, gone in a few seconds as he mixed and expanded and faded into the cold fall air.

He was a bird, landing for a moment on a branch, not even a moment to let his wings settle before he was pushing off, launching himself back into the air where he was free.

He was nothing.

He’d made a mistake. He had let himself land, let himself grip onto an outstretched branch.

He had let himself hope.

He pulled his knees tighter to his chest, his whole body shaking in the night, the snowflakes falling in curtains around him, covering him in his stillness.

It was cold.

Too cold.

But he wasn’t shaking from the cold.

He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, cold and lifeless, empty.

He was flighty.

That had always been a risk.

He knew it.

But he had ignored it, pushed it away.

Because he had fallen for Daichi. He had fallen and had forgotten what it felt like to run.

And he had pulled Daichi down with him. Pulled Daichi down under a fleeting impression of hope, of security.

He was a flight risk, he had always known it.

So what had made him think this would be different?

_Daichi tasted of cinnamon, of something warm._

_Breaking away to catch his breath, Suga laughed again, pushing his head into Daichi’s shoulder. Daichi pulled his face back up till their noses were touching, his hand cradling Suga’s warm cheek, his thumb rubbing circles on the mole under Suga’s left eye._

_And he felt at home._

_“I love you.”_

_The words were soft, almost inaudible in the pulsing sound of the bar, the bass rumbling through the ground and traveling up his body till his heart was beating in time, his whole body taken captive by the sound._

_He almost didn’t hear them, there in the bar with the music pulsing, the bass rumbling, his heart beating._

_But he had._

_Pushing off of Daichi’s chest, Suga stumbled back, his eyes wide, his vision blurring from something other than alcohol and flashing neon._

_“Daichi…”_

_Daichi reached out to him, trying to grab onto his arm to keep him steady, to stop his movement, but he jerked it away, the force sending him backward into the little redhead he had been dancing with._

_“Oh, are you okay?” the man said, screaming above the music pulsing, the bass rumbling, his heart beating._

_“I’m fine,” he forced out, his chest constricting and he stumbled backward, his foot catching on the leg of a chair._

_He fell to the ground with a crash, all limbs and body, his heart finally breaking away from the beat of the bass._

_Daichi was running to him, running to help him up, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t-_

_He pushed himself back till he could grab onto the edge of a table and pull himself up._

_“Suga-”_

_“I’m sorry, Daichi,” he whispered, turning to run, to fly._

_Strong hands grabbed onto his, turning him around, the neon of the stage blinding him momentarily._

_“Suga, I don’t- did I do something wrong?”_

_Daichi’s eyes were wide, concerned, trusting._

_Loving._

_He couldn’t do this._

_He had been running for so long._

_He had been foolish to think he could ever stop._

_“I can’t, Daichi. I’m sorry.”_

_And with that, he turned._

_And he ran._

His back ached, the vertebrae in his spine crushed as he curled into himself, pressed up into the unwelcoming hardness of brick.

He could feel the tears as they fell, could feel the way they dripped onto the arms crossed over his leg, could feel the way they seeped through the too light shirt he was wearing, one suited for a bar rather than a snowy night.

His chest had never hurt this much.

Nothing had ever hurt this much.

The breaths that came out of him rattled his body, rough and swallowing, encompassing.

He had never hurt this much.

He had been foolish.

He’d been walking in a desert for so long he had fallen for a mirage, a false promise of relief.

He didn’t know breathing could hurt this much.

He didn’t know how long he’d been out there, compressed into the wall.

All he knew is that he had run.

And Daichi hadn’t followed.

Slipping his frozen hand into his pocket, he pulled out his phone, the only belonging he had on him. His bag was still in the bar, at the table where they sat, his sketchbook on the table, his keys somewhere in a pocket of his bag.

The call was easy to make.

It was picked up after a single ring.

“Koushi, you can’t just ignore me like that, what do you think you were doing-”

“I messed up.”

He choked.

“Koushi…” the voice responded, questioning and sincere, aware of the tears in Suga’s voice. “What happened?”

“I messed up, Tooru,” he said, his voice catching with his breath.

He had forgotten how to breathe.

“I- I knew better. I really did. I shouldn’t have stayed, I should have left like I was supposed to. But I just thought- I thought it would be different.”

“What would be different?”

“This,” Suga said, gesturing out into the world though he knew Tooru couldn’t see him. “Daichi.”

“Kou, what happened? I thought you were happy.”

Suga pushed his face into his knees, hoping the pressure would force his shaking to stop.

“He told me he loves me.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Tooru’s voice was soft, comforting.

“It’s too soon, Tooru. It’s only been two weeks, and there’s… there’s no way. He doesn’t know me the way he thinks he does. If he did, he wouldn’t say it.”

“Hmm, and what makes you think that?”

“Because it’s not true.”

“You don’t think it’s true? You don’t think he loves you?”

Suga’s finger traced abstract shapes into the settled snow, flowing with the pattern he had created over and over and over until he couldn’t feel his fingers.

If he thought about it, his life was like that too.

A pattern set by him, followed over and over and over until he had grown numb.

“I don’t know. But he shouldn’t.”

“Why’s that, Kou? Do you not think you’re worthy of love?”

“Do you think I’m flighty?”

“Answer my question, Koushi.”

“I am. Do you think I’m flighty?”

“What’s that got to do with this?”

“Everything.”

“Well, yeah, I guess a bit. You’ve always reminded me of a bird, in a way.”

Suga smiled to himself, something soft and sad.

“Exactly, Tooru. I’m a bird. I can’t stay in one place. I’m flighty, I’m unstable, unsteady. All I do is leave.”

“So you don’t think you’re worthy of love, just because of that?”

“It’s not that I think I’m unworthy, I don’t think, it’s just… he doesn’t deserve me. All I do is run, it’s not fair to him. He can’t love me, Tooru. It will only hurt him. I’ll only hurt him.”

“Do you love him?”

“I-” Suga stopped.

_“Do you love him?”_

Did he?

He’d never been good at love. If he thought about it, he’d never been in love before. All the times he thought he was, they would leave, he would run, and after a few days, he would realize there had never been anything there to begin with, nothing more than hollow words and cold touches.

They were fleeting.

Just like him.

Gone in an instant.

Flighty.

But something about this had felt different. Something about it had felt whole.

Daichi felt different.

He didn’t know how to explain it. It settled in his chest and spread through his body, like the blood his heart spent each moment pumping through him, something he didn’t have to think about, something natural and unconscious, something born into him, something he couldn’t stop.

It was quiet, this feeling.

His world had always been loud, filled with sound and life and any recollection of belonging, a semblance of the carefree spirit he displayed so proudly to those he met, the barrier he put up to mask the loneliness beneath the protection of milky skin and freckles.

The noises mixed like the paints on his canvas until one was indistinguishable from the rest, forgotten in the conglomeration of color. The sound had covered him in a sickly heat, pushing and pushing and pushing him down until he couldn’t remember anything other than the music pulsing, the bass rumbling, his heart beating.

But Daichi carried with him a quietness, a stillness, that pushed through every room he was in, ridding the space of any evidence of the previous cacophony, soothing and complete and enough.

Daichi was enough, with his gentle hands and his soft laugh and his tupelo eyes.

He was enough.

Suga had always found raindrops fascinating: the way they took all the colors of the world around them and swirled them into something resembling infinity, grabbing every viewable part of the universe and holding it in delicate balls no bigger than the head of a pin, small enough to be held on a fingertip but still wild in the way that they never stayed still, running in rivulets down the creases of palms and windows and exposed skin, spurred by the slightest motion, whether by gravity or wind or even the presence of another drop of infinity, never once giving up the colors they held, instead only joining in matrimony with others, an unhindered loop until the drops, larger at the end than at the beginning, seeped into the ground and to the roots of trees and plants and flowers, who feasted off the life of eternity.

Daichi was a raindrop.

A flask of infinity enclosed in skin and bones and blood that pumped and pulsed into a heart that had the inexplicable capability of love, hurtling towards Suga at breathtaking speed.

Suga had wondered if this was how rivers were formed. With the convergence of two flasks of infinity.

What color his river would be.

And here he was, at the point before confluence, the point between two and one, the point before he found himself fused into a river at last, and he had run away.

He was always running.

It was in his blood, his veins.

And yet, for the first time, the call in his body that told tall tales of adventure and lore, of disappearing, of running, sung a new ballad.

For the first time, every part of him knew to run towards something instead of away.

Towards someone.

“I- I think I do.”

He let his head fall back into the brick behind him, the ravaging monster inside his chest pushing and clawing its way out.

“You what? I want to hear you say it, Kou.”

He was running towards someone.

“I love Daichi.”

It didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would, to admit it out loud. It didn’t rip him apart, tearing him limb from limb, skin from bone.

In fact, it was the opposite,

He felt lighter, warmer.

Happy.

“Then that’s all that matters, Kou. Don’t let your fears get in the way of that.”

“Thanks, Tooru. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I know. You’d be far worse off, that’s for sure.”

Suga laughed, the lightness startling him.

“You’re the worst.”

“I think you mean the best.”

“We’ll see about that. Thank you, Tooru. I mean it.”

“Of course. Now hang up on me like I know you’re going to and go get your man.”

Laughing again, Suga did as he was told, enjoying the way it cut off Tooru’s indignant voice.

He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hands, realizing how cold and frozen they were. Frowning, he stuck them under his armpits, hoping what little body heat he had left would help, though he knew it wouldn’t do much good. The snow was falling faster now, white against the stark dark contrast of the night sky.

“Suga…”

Startling, he let his head follow the voice, like a marionette on a string. Daichi was standing there, leaning on the corner of the building, his hands pushed into his pockets, his breath fogging in front of him as Suga watched the laden heaving of his breath.

His face was hard, but not in a way that Suga had often acquainted with anger, but rather worry, concern.

“Daichi…”

The toes of Daichi’s boot pushed through the snow, unable to remain still. He didn’t move from his spot, but he was leaning towards where Suga was sitting, like at the slightest acquiescence he would be there.

Suga patted the empty spot on the ground beside him.

Daichi was cautious as he slid down to sit beside Suga, his hands fluttering in the air before he laced them over his knees, unsure of what to do with them.

Suga wanted nothing more than to close the short distance between them, let his face fall into the warm strength of Daichi’s shoulder, to inhale the familiar scent of cinnamon, to wrap his arms around Daichi’s back.

Instead, he let his hand rest on Daichi’s. He could feel Daichi stiffen momentarily under him.

“I’m sorry, Daichi. I shouldn’t have run.”

“No, stop it, Suga. It was too soon, I should’ve known better.”

Suga lifted his head, his eyes connecting with Daichi’s.

“Daichi, I need to you stop right there. You didn’t do anything wrong. I panicked, and I fled, just like I always do.”

“Why do you run?”

The question startled Suga, though he knew it shouldn’t have. The progression was natural, like pulling in air through your nose to push it back out through your mouth, like waking up wrapped in his grandmother’s quilt, like the excitement of a new coffee.

But Daichi was still looking at him, eyes wide and sincere.

Warm,

Comforting,

Home.

“Because I’m scared.”

It was the simplest answer, so unpacking or analyzing or expounding. But sometimes the answer didn’t need anything else.

Sometimes the simplest answer was the most truthful.

“I’m scared, too.”

Suga’s eyes widened as he watched Daichi, as Daichi reached up to push a piece of hair behind Suga’s ear, hesitating over his face before resting his hand on Suga’s cheek.

Daichi’s hand was warm. Comforting. Home.

Suga pushed his face into it, releasing any doubt Daichi may have had, letting his own hand come up to rest on Daichi’s chest, not pushing him away but instead grounding him.

“Suga,” Daichi began, losing his words as a tear slid down his face.

“Oh, Dai,” Suga said, reaching up with his other hand to thumb away the tear from Daichi’s cheek, aware of how cold his fingers were on the heat of Daichi’s skin.

Daichi shivered slightly before pulling Suga into him.

Suga didn’t fight it, content to be enveloped in the safety of Daichi’s embrace.

Sugawara Koushi was born in motion.

He had always been like that, hurtling into tomorrow at breakneck speeds, rising into the air and diving to avoid anything that would threaten his motion, his movement.

His mother, with her loving arms wrapped around him and the familiar scent of lavender resting on her skin, had always equated him to a bird.

Free.

Lively.

Flighty.

He didn’t like the word.

Flighty.

It implied that he was scared. Insecure. On guard.

It implied that he was unstable.

Volatile.

Skittish.

Inconsistent.

Unsteady.

Maybe it was true. Maybe he was all of those things. Maybe that was why he had packed up everything, kissed his mother goodbye, and drove off into the unknown two years ago.

Maybe it was true.

Flighty.

He was used to running. It was easier that way. Safer.

Maybe it was true. Maybe he was scared. Terrified even.

No, he knew he was. It wasn’t something he could forget, something he could deny.

“Hey, Suga. What if we were scared together?”

But here, in the embrace of the one who made him not want to run, he felt safer than he ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooops, sorry. My bad. Forgive me, please.
> 
> Thank you all for reading! For those of you who are subscribed, did you get a notification last week? I noticed a lot of my usuals didn't comment and wasn't sure if something had gone wrong. Anyway, I finished an Iwaoi fic that you can read [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28464528/chapters/69750429) if you're interested! I also have a Tsukiyama soulmate oneshot in the works and plans for a Daisuga oneshot. I would love to do Bokuaka at some point since its my favorite pairing up there with Daisuga, but they are both such complex characters and I'm scared to not capture them in the way they deserve. Would that be something you'd be interested in?
> 
> As always, I love yall, and leave me all the comments! They make my day!


	16. Anywhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in the car, alone once again, Daichi suddenly didn’t know what to do with his body.
> 
> He didn’t dare push too close, didn’t dare risk scaring Suga into another round of flight. But every muscle in his body ached from the memory of Suga’s body against his, the soft and even breathing of sleep vibrating against his chest. 
> 
> He wanted nothing more than to feel that again. To roll over till he found Suga somewhere underneath the mountain of blankets, to pull Suga into his chest, to run his hands through Suga’s hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Anywhere](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cb5PalnCrhY)  
> If you get out on the ocean  
> If you sail out on the sea  
> If you get up in the mountains  
> If you go climbing on trees  
> All through every emotion  
> When you know that they don't care  
> Darling, that's when I'm with you  
> Oh, I'll go with you anywhere
> 
> HEY HEY HEY FRIENDS! Welcome back! Here's a whole chapter of fluff just for you, as an apology for last week. Please take it, I don't want any trouble.

When Suga had run from the bar, Daichi had followed.

A part of him deep down inside had warned him not to, that it was best to let Suga have his space, that it was best to let Suga go.

But a different part, a part embedded somewhere into the lining of his heart, had urged him to follow.

And so he had, ignoring the voices that screamed and coursed through his head. His chest ached, more than anything ever had in his whole life, and that in and of itself was enough to make up his mind for him, to push away the voices to the farthest corners of his mind, to push them back and back and back till they were forgotten in the shadows, hidden from the light.

Suga hadn’t noticed.

Daichi had hung back when he saw Suga drop to the ground in one of the side streets, his back against the brick and his body shaking with sobs. Everything in Daichi willed him to move, to run to Suga, to scoop him up, but he knew better. So instead he watched, his own tears sliding down his face, as Suga crumpled in on himself, small and vulnerable, a noticeable contrast to the normal sass and confidence.

Daichi wondered if maybe all that had just been a mask.

Maybe Suga wasn’t really the person he made himself out to be.

Maybe he wasn’t free.

Maybe he was trapped.

He hadn’t meant to listen to the phone conversation Suga had, and he had even turned away and pressed one ear to the brick of the building he was hiding behind, pulling his shoulder up to cover his other ear. But even then, bits of the conversation slipped past.

“It’s not that I think I’m unworthy, I don’t think, it’s just… he doesn’t deserve me. All I do is run, it’s not fair to him. He can’t love me, Tooru. It will only hurt him. I’ll only hurt him.”

Oh.

It’s not that Daichi was surprised by the confession. He’d known there was something hidden beneath the mask of confidence, beneath the laughter and the purple hair and the vibrant clothes. Something Suga didn’t want anyone to see.

He had been running.

He had been afraid.

Daichi had heard the confession following too, knew that Suga loved him the way he loved Suga, but he didn’t tell Suga what he had heard. It was personal, something he had no right to hear. The confession was Suga’s alone, and Daichi would let it stay that way.

He knew Suga would let it out when he was ready.

The car was cold, even under the warmth of extra layers of clothes and a pile of blankets, his bones chilled from standing in the freshly swirling snow for too long. Suga must have been even colder.

Hesitantly. Daichi lowered himself onto the bed, unsure of Suga’s reaction.

Not trusting his own.

Suga was already curled up on his side of the mattress, only his nose peeking through a mass of wool and soft cotton. They hadn’t said much since returning to the car. They’d brushed their teeth in silent unison in a gas station bathroom. Daichi had gathered some water bottles from the store while Suga scrubbed the remaining trails of glitter off his face, leaving the pieces stuck in his hair till he could wash them out.

Back in the car, alone once again, Daichi suddenly didn’t know what to do with his body.

He didn’t dare push too close, didn’t dare risk scaring Suga into another round of flight. But every muscle in his body ached from the memory of Suga’s body against his, the soft and even breathing of sleep vibrating against his chest.

He wanted nothing more than to feel that again. To roll over till he found Suga somewhere underneath the mountain of blankets, to pull Suga into his chest, to run his hands through Suga’s hair.

Letting his hand wander over to the other side of the bed, feeling around under the covers, he found one of Suga’s hands, lacing his pinky with Suga’s.

There was motion from the other side, the blankets moving slightly as Suga rotated underneath them. Soft eyes peeked out from under them, gazing at Daichi.

The pinky his was linked with squeezed back.

“Is this okay?” Daichi whispered. Suga nodded.

He laced his fingers with Suga’s, tracing circles over the back of Suga’s hand with the soft pad of his thumb.

“How about this?”

Suga nodded again, breathless.

Daichi could go to sleep like that, connected with Suga with only hands, grounded.

He could.

But instead, he crawled up the mattress, his hand never leaving the smaller one in his, till his face was above Suga’s, till their knees bumped under the blankets. Suga’s breath caught.

“Is this?”

“Yes…”

Suga reached up to where Daichi was hovering above him, letting the tips of his fingers dance over Daichi’s face before sliding back behind his neck, pulling Daichi’s face closer to his.

Daichi shivered at the touch.

“Suga…” The word was heavy on his tongue, warm and pressing, a honey cough drop. He could hear the heaviness of his breath in the silence of the car, knew he couldn’t hide it.

Suga’s fingers played with the soft curls at the base of his neck, where his hair stopped.

“Suga, can I kiss you? Is that okay?”

Suga nodded again, Daichi hesitating only a second before lowering himself down onto Suga’s chest, his free hand holding him up. At his hesitation, Suga pushed his head down, rising at the same moment to connect them.

Daichi would never grow tired of kissing Suga.

Each one was new, terrifying, like the waves of an ocean rising and crashing to kiss the shore. Suga’s lips were soft, warm.

Home.

Suga’s lips parted under the warmth of Daichi’s, a “welcome home.”

Daichi slid his hand out of Suga’s to cup Suga’s face, worried for a moment about letting go, but then both of Suga’s hands are on his face, encompassing him completely, pulling him even farther down, sinking him in the depths of the ocean.

Daichi couldn’t remember how to swim.

“Dai,” Suga whispered when they both pulled back to catch their breath. “Thank you. For coming after me. For loving me.”

“I’ll always come after you. Always,” Daichi said, pressing his lips back to Suga’s.

They’d kissed before, sure. But something about this was different. There wasn’t anything hiding under the surface, there wasn’t anything holding back. It was a promise, whispered into the enclosed air of the car Suga had spent the past two years in.

Lowering himself beside Suga, Daichi turned so they were facing each other, tracing the high points of Suga’s face with his finger as they breathed in the same air.

“I meant what I said. About me being scared too.”

Suga leaned forward to kiss Daichi’s nose, resting their foreheads together.

Sugawara Koushi was alive, his beating heart pressed to Daichi’s, their heartbeats harmonizing in a waltz, his breath now in Daichi’s lungs, engraving its place on their walls.

Sugawara Koushi was permanent.

“Something about being with you makes me less scared.” Suga closed his eyes for a moment before opening them to lock eyes with Daichi. “You make me less scared.”

Daichi swallowed, the tears in his eyes pressing for release. “There’s just something about you, Suga. I can’t explain it, no matter how hard I try. You make me courageous, even though I’m terrified at the same time. But my dad told me once that bravery isn’t the absence of fear, that they go hand in hand. And when I’m with you, I’m a bit more brave. It’s all you, Suga.”

“Oh, Dai. I’m not nearly brave enough for the both of us.”

“That’s okay. You can take some of mine. After all, it’s yours to take. It’s there because of you.”

A tear slipped down Suga’s face, dropping to the sheets below. “You’re incredible, Daichi. It’s an honor to be loved by you. You could have chosen anyone, but you chose me.”

His chest tightening, Daichi reached out to pull Suga into his chest, hiding his face in Suga’s soft hair, the bits of glitter still stuck there glimmering under the glow of a streetlamp, a thousand little stars.

“There’s no one else I would have chosen. It’s only you, Suga. It will only ever be you.”

Suga choked out a sob, burying himself farther into Daichi’s chest, burning himself in the memory of Daichi’s body, a scar that burns long after contact.

Daichi gathered his arms around Suga, holding tightly as Suga cried.

He could hear his breaths echoing through the caverns of his body, restless and nervous and scared, yet unwilling to give in to the fear all at once. He could feel the breath pulsing through the man beside him, the muscles under Suga’s skin beating in time with Daichi’s breaths.

Motion and stillness in unison.

Maybe Suga was right. Maybe he had grown tired of being the same middle piece everyone saw him to be, safe and secure and… boring. Maybe this was his desperate attempt to snap that middle piece in half, to break it beyond repair till no one recognized what he once had been.

But what if he was being foolish? He’d always be the middle piece, always be this way, and nothing that he did would change that. The piece would mend back together like magic the second he stopped, the second he let the stillness rest on him once again.

What if it was a mistake?

But it was too late now, too late to turn back the hands of the clock to the moment he had let the words, the promise, slip out of his mouth. Back to the moment he had first touched Suga’s skin, somewhere on the floor of his apartment. Back to the moment he had found the man sitting in his chair and instead of forcing the man to move or simply choosing a different table had joined the man.

Back to the beginning of everything.

It was too late now.

Daichi inhaled, the soft scent of chamomile twirling around him, the body in his arms pulling away just enough to look at him, to reach up and press a light kiss to his nose before burying back into his chest.

No, it wasn’t a mistake.

If Daichi could go back to that moment in the cafe, could do it all over again, he wouldn’t change a thing.

Even though he was scared, even though he was terrified, nothing compared to the love he felt for the man in his arms.

He would do it all over again in a heartbeat if it meant he got to end up here in the end.

Sure, it was too late to go back to the beginning of everything. But he didn’t need to.

Suga was the best thing he had ever experienced, and even the hesitation and the fear and the fear of flight didn’t change that truth.

It was permanent, carved in stone, chipped by the hands of skilled artists into perfection, into something wonderful enough to be placed in museums, something capable of surviving centuries, lifetimes.

Sugawara Koushi was permanent.

And Daichi loved every part of it.

Suga’s breathing was starting to even out, sleep finally catching up with him, and Daichi could feel the droop in his own eyes as he rested his chin on the top of Suga’s head.

“Goodnight, Daichi.”

“Goodnight, Suga.”

“Daichi?”

“Hmm?”

Suga shifted slightly in his arms, pressing a kiss to his chest before pulling the blankets tighter around them.

“I love you, too.”

“Oh, oh, OH! This is one of my favorite songs! Sorry in advance for your eardrums, Dai, but you can’t stop me.”

The warm morning sun cascaded over the road, tip-toeing in through the windows, lacing every surface in its gold.

Suga’s hands tapped on the steering wheel as he turned the music up, the window rolled down even in the cold, the heat blasting to counteract the coolness that pushed through.

Suga hummed along to the opening of the song, his voice excited and light as he began to sing along

“If you get out on the ocean  
If you sail out on the sea  
If you get up in the mountains  
If you go climbing on trees  
All through every emotion  
When you know that they don't care  
Darling, that's when I'm with you  
Oh, I'll go with you anywhere.”

Suga pointed his finger at Daichi, laughing as he danced along to the words, a smile dipping on his mouth even as he sang.

“If you get up in a jet plane  
Or down in a submarine  
If you get on to the next train  
To somewhere you've never been  
If you wanna ride in a fast car  
And feel the wind in your hair  
Darling just look beside you  
Oh, I'll go with you anywhere.”

He turned his head dramatically towards Daichi, his eyes laughing at the truth in the words he sang.

Daichi didn’t know the song, had never heard it, but it was suddenly his favorite song.

“Oh, and I will be with you  
When the darkest winter comes  
Oh, and I will be with you  
To feel the California sun  
Oh, and I will be with you  
In the night time and when it's through  
Oh, I'll go anywhere with you.”

Daichi couldn’t help but mirror Suga’s movements, his shoulders stiffer and not as graceful, but he laughed anyway, the feeling in his heart bursting out of the confines of the cage he’d put it in so long ago.

“Dance break!” Suga screamed.

It had been almost a week since that night in the bar. A week since he had let his confession slip out of his mouth, a week since Suga had run, since he had followed, since Suga had returned the confession.

It had all been a blur, a motion of laughter and light and Suga.

Daichi had never been happier.

“If you get up in the hillside  
If you ride out on the planes  
If you go digging up dirt  
If you go out dancing in the rain  
If you go chasing them rainbows  
Just to find that gold ain't there  
Darling just look behind you  
Oh, I'll go with you anywhere.”

Suga poked Daichi’s shoulder with his finger, his other hand drumming on the steering wheel.

“Oh, and I will be with you  
When the darkest winter comes  
Oh, and I will be with you  
To feel the California sun  
Oh, and I will be with you  
In the night time and when it's through  
Oh, I'll go anywhere with you

From the driver’s side, Suga was strumming along with an imaginary guitar, his hair rocking from side to side as he moved, his grin blown wide, his laughter filling the car.

 _No,_ Daichi thought, _there’s nothing about this I’d change._

“Yeah, I'll go anywhere with you.”

Nothing at all.

“Oh, and I will be with you  
When the darkest winter comes  
Oh, and I will be with you  
To feel the California sun  
Oh, and I will be with you  
In the night time and when it's through  
Oh, darling I swear I'll go anywhere with you.”

Daichi knew enough now to sing along the best he could, his deeper voice mixing with Suga’s light and lilting tenor. He knew he didn’t have the best voice, but that didn’t matter, nothing mattered.

“Oh I'll go anywhere with you  
Oh I'll go anywhere with you  
Oh I'll go anywhere with you  
Oh I'll go anywhere with you.”

They finished the words together, Daichi’s eyes closed from joy. He forced them open at the end, needing to see Suga.

Suga was still laughing, his hand moving over to rest in Daichi’s hair, playing with the strands as he focused on the road.

“Your hair’s gotten longer.”

Daichi’s face flushed, his eyes flicking up to the mirror on the visor above him. “Yeah, I should probably get it cut.”

“No, I like it. I mean, if you want to, go for it, but it looks nice like this. It’s soft.”

Daichi’s face grew even warmer. “Oh.”

“No need to get so nervous,” Suga chuckled, his fingers still working in Daichi’s hair. “I’ll love you either way.”

_Oh._

_I’m dead._

_That’s the only explanation._

_I’ve died and this is all a dream._

“I think I’ll leave it, then,” Daichi said, his voice coming out a squeak.

Suga nodded, his fingers never stilling.

His phone buzzed on his leg, the screen lighting up with an incoming call.

Hajime.

He should really answer it. He really should. But-

He didn’t have anything to give to his agent, no new chapters, no first draft, though the deadline was rapidly approaching like a car coming from the opposite side of the highway.

He couldn’t tell Hajime that.

He couldn’t disappoint him again.

The guilt clawed in his stomach, the screen went dark once more.

Suga didn’t say anything about the call, keeping his eyes straight on the road. Instead, he just hummed along to the song playing over the car speakers, his fingers stilling in Daichi’s hair.

“This looks like a nice cafe right up ahead. I could go for some coffee.”

Daichi nodded, unwilling to let his voice betray the metallic taste of guilt in his mouth.

The cafe was loud, the space barely moveable against the conglomeration of tables and chairs and people. Suga pushed towards the counter to place their order while Daichi placed himself at the one open table, guarding it till Suga’s return.

He’d always enjoyed people watching. It came with his job. People carried stories, invisible and seen, etched in the cracks of faces and the wrinkles of clothes, the nervous laughter, the shuffling of feet, the unease of hands not knowing what to do. He was content to sit there in silence while he waited for Suga to return, content to watch and analyze and craft stroies, tales, sagas in his head about the people around him.

There was a family at the table beside him, new and fresh, the small baby curled up in the arms of his father, the hands holding him tight and encompassing and strong, filled with love that vibrated through veins and sung through halls of bone.

There was an older woman knitting alone in one of the chairs that rested in the corner by the window, empty teacup beside her as she hummed to herself, a song only she could hear.

There was a man walking in through the door, tall and lanky and proud, posture that reeked of arrogance but a soft concerned face that gave away the lie resting on his shoulders, pretty and polished but breaking on the inside, something Daichi might have equated with fools gold.

He had always enjoyed people watching. It was from people that he crafted life, that he made his living.

He couldn't see Suga anymore, lost somewhere in the black hole at the registers. So he let his eyes continue to roam.

The tall man was staring at him.

From across the crowded space of the cafe, the man Daichi had watched enter the cafe with a saunter in his steps was looking directly at him, wide eyes boring into his skin, into his blood. Daichi could feel the tell-tale heat that came when his face flushed, unable to break eye contact with the stranger.

Did he have something on his face?

The man blinked slowly, his face giving no indication of laughter that would normally come with the image of a man with an unidentified object on his face. His head turned ever so slightly to the side, his gaze calculating, searching.

Daichi shifted in his seat, scratching at his neck.

The man’s eyes narrowed, and then he turned, striding towards the bustling crowd of the line.

_That was weird._

Each person Daichi met was a puzzle piece, fitting into others with a satisfying snap. A picture, a person, would start to emerge, slowly at first, when the pieces were all scattered on the table or the floor. But once the first match was complete, it became easier and easier to fit the others into place, until the person standing in front of him was full and whole and known.

Daichi was good at putting puzzles together.

Or, at least he used to be.

“Sugawara Koushi, where the HELL ARE YOU?”

That hadn’t seemed to be true as of late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmmm I wonder who that tall stranger could be? 
> 
> The song in the fic is [Anywhere](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cb5PalnCrhY) by Passenger! It's a fantastic song and you should totally listen to it! I know yall are probably sick and tired of songs, but I knew I wanted this one in here at some point and this felt like the perfect moment. Don't worry, no more songs, at least for a while. 
> 
> Poll time! 1. How did you find this fic? 2. What made you click on it/start reading? 3. What made you continue?
> 
> I want to know all the things so I can know what makes people like a fic. I want yall to be happy with my whole heart. You guys are incredible and I'm honored that you chose my fic of all the hundreds of thousands of ones out there to read. I can't even begin to describe how happy it makes me.
> 
> As always, come yell at me in the comments!


	17. Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He sighed, handing the bewildered barista his card, ignoring the voice and the man belonging to it. 
> 
> “Don’t mind him, I’ll take care of it,” he said, pocketing his card and sauntering over to the pickup counter.
> 
> “KOUSHI I CAN SEE YOU, YOU CAN’T PRETEND I’M NOT HERE!”
> 
> Suga hummed, thanking the barista that handed him the two drinks, turning on his heel to find Daichi.
> 
> Right past the man still screaming into the coffee shop.
> 
> The mix of confusion and terror that graced Daichi’s face was something Suga made a mental note to paint later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [arrow](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ob2uHIiW3II)  
> I'm fast out, and I'm exhausted  
> Out of breath, thinking where I went wrong  
> This heart is afraid to beat slowly  
> Miss a chance at what I could become  
> I know that I can't run forever  
> But I can't stand still for too long  
> This heart is afraid to beat slowly  
> The hardest place to be  
> Is right where you are  
> In the space between  
> The finish and the start  
> It's the arrow in your heart  
> The arrow in your heart
> 
> HEY HEY HEY FRIENDS! Welcome back. So, uh, a confession: I normally write these chapters over a two day period (usually Friday and Saturday because I'm the world's worst procrastinator), but it hit noon today and I hadn't written a single word. So I sat down at my desk like Oikawa with my knees pulled to my chest (or like L, if you know Death Note) with a cup of coffee and a pack of Pocky that I inhaled like a woodchipper and this chapter came from it. If it feels weird, I apologize. Also, I haven't had a beta reader for the past couple chapters, so if you notice anything weird, please let me know so I can fix it.
> 
> Anywho, here ya go

Suga hadn’t meant to run.

It had never been something he’d sat down and contemplated, something he’d planned under the covers at night with the aid of a flashlight, something he drafted charts and graphs and plans for.

It had never been something he had planned.

It’s not that he regretted it. It’s not that he hadn’t thought about it before, the leaving everything to disappear. It had just never been something he’d seriously considered.

It had always been a whim, a fancy, the childlike wish that would never be fulfilled, like a child fantasizing of running away from home and living in the woods that never came true, not because the child hadn’t been serious in his plans, but just that life was fast and things changed and things were forgotten.

And mom gave the best hugs. It would be a shame if you never felt those again.

And the dog. The dog was nice.

Running away hadn’t been something he’d planned, plotted out. When he’d left, it had been after only a day of mindless thought, a day of packing up his most important belongings, the things he thought he might need, a day of telling his closest friend and his mother, neither of who were surprised though they’d be lying if they said they liked the idea.

And he’d disappeared. Vanished from existence, at least the one he’d lived in for the entirety of his life.

He had always faded into the background of scenes, the tree or a piece of cloud in the school plays and musicals that crept and faded into his everyday life.

He was a leaf, a wisp.

Fleeting.

It had never bothered him much.

Unseen.

Because it hadn’t really mattered. The being seen.

He’d never been truly seen before, at least not by anyone other than his mother and Tooru, at least in a way that wasn’t superficial.

No one had noticed when he left.

No one had noticed the disappearance of the boy who they might have believed to have been a ghost. He was nothing more than a presence to them, something easy to look at and soft. Something they might place in a museum.

And maybe that was why.

Maybe that had been why he’d run.

To escape the awful ache in his chest that clenched when he watched one of those old rom-coms with Tooru, the ache that spread and increased and flourished under the careful watering of movie-perfect romance and the reality of being invisible.

Lonely.

It’s lonely to be invisible.

No matter how much he laughed and joked about it, how much he liked to pretend that he was fine, that he liked it that way, he was lonely.

Maybe that ache in his chest that he had come to know so intimately over the years had been just that.

Maybe it had a name.

It’s not that he thought running away would solve all his issues. It’s just…

Maybe running, maybe living, maybe motion would soothe it, even if only for a moment.

Suga knew he would suffocate if he stopped moving.

Tooru hadn’t been too happy about it, had grumbled and chided him every time they talked, had tried to convince Suga to “come back home,” as if anyplace he was invisible could ever be home. But even in all his gruff words, Tooru had been a rock, a source of comfort, a soft voice on the other side of the phone when he needed it the most.

He was always there when Suga needed him, always only a couple steps behind him, the only person able to keep up with Suga’s motion.

So when Tooru’s ear-piercing voice cut through the warmth of the coffee shop, Suga shouldn’t have been surprised.

He really shouldn’t have.

He should have seen it coming, especially after their revealing phone call a week ago, when he’d called his best friend with tears streaming down his face.

He’d been dumb not to.

He sighed, handing the bewildered barista his card, ignoring the voice and the man belonging to it.

“Don’t mind him, I’ll take care of it,” he said, pocketing his card and sauntering over to the pickup counter.

“KOUSHI I CAN SEE YOU, YOU CAN’T PRETEND I’M NOT HERE!”

Suga hummed, thanking the barista that handed him the two drinks, turning on his heel to find Daichi.

Right past the man still screaming into the coffee shop.

The mix of confusion and terror that graced Daichi’s face was something Suga made a mental note to paint later.

_Cute._

“Uhh, Suga? What’s going on? Who is that?”

Suga sighed, setting the drinks down at the table between them as he watched the figure rapidly approach out of the corner of his eye.

“KOUSHI THE HELL-”

“Tooru, if you don’t shut up and sit down right now, I’m walking right out of this coffee shop and deleting you from my phone.”

Tooru huffed, but slid into the empty chair at the table anyway, his fiery graze darting over to Daichi, who scratched at his neck in nervousness.

“Well, aren’t you going to introduce me?”

“Fine. Tooru, this is Daichi, my… Daichi, this is Tooru, my childhood best friend and lifetime menace.”

“Wow, rude.”

“It’s true, though. You love being a menace. It gives your sad life purpose.”

Daichi blinked, his eyes jumping back and forth between the two men, his mouth parted slightly under words that didn’t quite make it out.

Suga slipped one of his hands under the table, finding Daichi’s and lacing their fingers together, giving a reassuring squeeze.

Daichi squeezed back, his mouth closing.

“I, uh… nice to meet you, Tooru.”

Tooru leaned back in his chair, jutting his chin out into the air, his eyes narrowing at Suga. “So this is him, huh?”

Daichi flushed.

“Yup,” Suga grinned, raising their hands to show their interlocked nature to Tooru. “This is him.”

“Damn, Suga, when you said you found yourself a man, you really meant it. I was expecting some sad looking nerd who’s never seen the sun, but I guess you’re capable of fishing way outside your league.”

Tooru earned the harsh smack on the back of his hand.

“Don’t be rude, Tooru, you’re just jealous. And we all know that you couldn’t get a man like Daichi if you tried. My ‘league,’ as you so sweetly put it, is far exceeding anywhere you are. You may have been popular in school, but remember what happened when I had my ‘glow-up,’ as you call it? Hmm? Who had all the girls fawning over him then?”

Suga looked over to Daichi, who ducked his head. Tracing his thumb over the back of Daichi’s hand, Suga squeezed their clasped hands comfortingly.

“Not that I’d want any of them anyway. I have everything I could ever want right here.”

Daichi blushed.

“Well gag me with a spoon and end me now,” Tooru coughed, shoving his finger up into his mouth to prove his point. “That’s the grossest shit I’ve ever heard.”

“Hmm, I don’t seem to recall you saying that when you bawl your eyes out at every rom-com we watch.”

“Koushi, you’ve gone too far! I’m sensitive and you know it.”

“Mhmm, you’re sensitive all right. But why are you here? How did you know where I was?”

Tooru grinned, that sickly sweet grin that Suga had come to associate with acts of terror.

“Oh, my dear Koushi. Don’t you remember? Your mom asked me to put the location tracking app on your phone. It’s the only way she sleeps at night, that poor woman, her only son off in the big scary world all by himself.” Tooru’s eyes cut over to Daichi. “Well, until recently.”

“You’ve been tracking me? When the hell did I ever give you permission to do that?”

Tooru leaned back, grabbing Suga’s and taking a long sip. “That night before you left. You don’t remember? Your mother was crying and you agreed so she’d know you were safe. Oh, that’s right, you probably don’t remember. You were drunk.”

Suga snatched his drink back, eyeing the receding foam. “That’s probably the only way you could get me to agree, wasn’t it.” Suga gasped. “Mom told you to get me drunk just so I would agree to that, didn’t she?”

“Your mother is a scary woman, Koushi. I would hate to be on her bad side.”

Placing the half-gone drink back on the table, Suga leaned back, his eyes narrowing. “So why are you here? Why now?”

Tooru blinked. “Koushi, you can’t expect me to just go about my daily life, not after that phone call. I needed to make sure you were okay.”

Suga could feel something resembling irritation simmer in his stomach. “No, that’s exactly what I expect, Tooru. Not for you to drop everything and come for me like I’m some child. I can handle myself.”

Daichi squirmed uncomfortably in the chair beside him.

“You can’t handle yourself, that’s the problem. That’s why I stay, cause no one else will.”

_No. No, he didn’t. He couldn’t-_

“Excuse me?”

Suga gritted his teeth, the tear-ducts in his eyes pricking, his chest clenching.

“Koushi, I-”

“No, Tooru, you don’t get to speak. You broke the very promise you said you’d never break. The one promise, Tooru.”

The irritation in Suga’s stomach turned to a boil, rolling over into anger.

“Koushi, I’m sorry, I really am, I just thought-”

“Stop. I don’t want to hear any of your excuses. You broke the trust between us.”

Tooru was panicking, Suga could see it in the normally confident expression on his face. He was still smiling, but the corners of his mouth were twitching, the light in his eyes wavering, his bottom lip quivering.

_Let him panic._

It was childish, Suga knew that, but the fire in his veins and the heat under his skin continued to rise in temperature, just a few degrees higher and it would boil over, finding no more space left in the container it had been placed in, and Suga would break, an explosion of heat and steam and fire.

The tears pushing at his eyes stayed put, held behind a barrier of smoke.

Their one promise.

Their one moment of trust.

An entire life of friendship straining under the broken edges of that promise, snapping and creaking, a boat bashing on the jagged rocks in a storm, a knife dawing back and forth at a woven rope.

Sooner or later, it would snap. Break. Shatter to pieces.

“Koushi… I- I’m sorry, I didn’t thin-”

“No, that’s the problem. You didn’t think. You never think. All you care about is yourself, riding in to save me on your white horse. You always wanted to be the knight, but I’m not a damsel, Tooru. I’m not going to break.”

Suga narrowed his eyes.

“I don’t need you to save me.”

“Kou… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Tooru was crying now, his confident exterior melting off with the tears flowing from his eyes. He reached towards Suga, towards his arm. But Suga jerked it back, the sudden motion of him standing knocking the chair he had been sitting on back to the floor.

The coffee shop quieted, the voices hushing as everyone turned to look.

The tears Suga had been holding back pushed through the smoke, choking out his eyes in their insistence.

“Koushi, I’m sorry.”

Suga wiped at the moisture on his face, the crushing anger in his stomach churning into something broken.

Grief.

“I need a moment.”

Daichi was still sitting at the table between them, concerned even in his confusion. “Suga, I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m sure that if you guys just talk-”

“THIS DOESN’T INVOLVE YOU, DAICHI!”

The words were out before Suga could stop them, bitter and angry, like a lemon without any sugar to tame its taste, a bad cup of gas station coffee.

Daichi’s mouth parted, hurt replacing every emotion on his face, in his body. His shoulders tensed, his hand pulled from Suga’s, his eyes wide and wounded.

“Suga…”

Suga shook his head, letting the tears fall without trying to stop them. _Shit._

_Shit shit shit._

He hadn’t meant to hurt Daichi, hadn’t meant to yell at him, hadn’t meant to wound him.

But he’d done it anyway.

He had snapped, broken, exploded, the shrapnel hitting Daichi.

“I’m sorry, I- I just need a moment,” Suga pushed out.

And he fled.

If Suga had taken a moment to think about it, he would have laughed at the irony.

He’d done the same thing a week ago, fled the person he loved.

And now he had run away from the two people he loved the most in the world, save for his mother.

He should have known better.

He was a flight risk.

He knew it.

And he couldn’t change, no matter how hard he tried.

It’s why none of his relationships had never worked before.

But he hadn’t cared about them nearly as much as he cared about these two.

“Suga?”

Of course Daichi had followed.

Of course he had.

Daichi was standing behind him, and when Suga turned, he couldn’t help but run straight into Daichi’s open arms, burying his face into Daichi’s neck. Daichi’s arms tightened around him, pulling Suga into his chest till Suga almost couldn’t breathe.

“I’m so sorry, Daichi. I didn’t mean to-”

“I know,” Daichi whispered, dropping a soft kiss to the top of Suga’s head, rubbing circles into his back. “I know you didn’t. It’s okay. It’s okay, Suga.”

Suga’s whole body shook, his lungs wracked with sobs. Daichi’s fingers continued their soothing circles, the sweet cinnamon scent of his skin settling over Suga completely, like a warm blanket in a thunderstorm.

A scent Suga had become well acquainted with over the past few weeks, something altogether reminiscent of what Suga had always thought a home would smell like. A fire crackling in a fireplace, candles lit and flickering, something baking in a kitchen strewn with flour and sugar and eager mouths.

Home.

Home was a concept that never escaped Suga’s mind, especially when he was alone at night, quiet under the pile of blankets and pillows in the car he had come to know so well over the last few years.

It was something he’d never experienced, but something he’d heard so much about. From friends, from family, from the strangers he met on his travels. The word was usually said in a voice that lingered with wistfulness, sometimes for a home they were on their way back to, sometimes for a home long gone but never forgotten.

But no matter how far away it was, it was always home.

Maybe home was like a river. A collection and euphony of kindness and infinity and love.

Home was nowhere.

“I love you, Daichi.”

“I love you too, Suga. So, so much.”

He was still in Daichi’s arms, his breathing regaining its evenness.

Suga had never liked stillness.

Stillness was uncomfortable.

Stillness was unsettling.

Stillness was scary.

Vulnerable.

Yet in the stillness of this moment, bathed in the glow of the morning and the lingering taste of a latte and the smell of the man that felt like home and the feel of Daichi’s body pushed into his, he had no desire to move.

For the first time in his life, he felt safe.

“Dai, I want you to know something. I’ve always been flighty. I’ve always been prone to run. It’s just who I am, as much as I hate it sometimes. But no matter what, I want you to come after me. If you don’t that’s okay, but-”

“Suga, I will always come after you, I will always run to follow with you, no matter what. No matter how many mountains I have to climb or how many oceans I have to cross, I will come. I- I’ve never loved anything quite like I love you. It scares me how much I love you, how willing I am to face everything that scares the crap out of me if it means I get to hold you.”

The tears quickened in Suga’s eyes, his vision blurred in the morning air. It was all so much. The familiar fluttering in his bones that told him to run twitched at the words, rising up to send him fleeing once more.

But he couldn’t.

Not now.

Not ever.

He was done running.

He had spent his entire life feeling out of place, unsteady, like any gust of wind would push him off the edge of the pillar he had been placed on, that any sudden spark of thunder would shatter him completely into pieces too small to piece back together.

And maybe he would fall. Maybe he would break. But Daichi was there, glue in hand, determination coursing through him, to piece Suga back together, shard by shard, uncaring of the cuts and blood that would surely come with such a task.

Daichi was there, even when he lay shattered on the ground.

Daichi was there.

He traced over the curves of Daichi in his mind, knowing exactly how he would flick his paintbrush to capture him on a canvas, the colors his mind would know to pick without thinking, an innate knowledge nestled somewhere deep within him. He drew Daichi in his mind, his finger following the motion on the back of Daichi’s back, embedding the sketch in Daichi’s shirt, in Daichi’s body, in Suga’s mind.

Everything in him longed to grab the paints from the bag he always carried, to run back to his car for a fresh and unblemished canvas. Every atom, every fiber of his being burned to carve this image of Daichi into an immortal place, strung into the halls of Olympus for every god and goddess to mourn and cry at its unobtainable beauty.

To encapsulate into infinity.

He didn’t deserve Daichi. He knew that.

He’d never deserve Daichi.

But maybe that was okay. Maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.

“I know it’s probably too early to say this, but I don’t think I can hold it back any longer, Suga. I want to spend the rest of my life like this, with you. I don’t care if it’s in a house or a car, I just want you.”

Home.

It was something he’d never experienced, but something he’d heard so much about. From friends, from family, from the strangers he met on his travels. The word was usually said in a voice that lingered with wistfulness, sometimes for a home they were on their way back to, sometimes for a home long gone but never forgotten.

Home was everywhere.

Home was nowhere.

 _No_ , Suga thought, raising his head to kiss Daichi, to brush their noses together in a silent response.

_Home was Daichi._

Neither one of them looked up to see the stoic man with a scowl permanently etched into his face storm into the coffee shop they were standing outside of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey you guys...sorry bout that... I, uhh.. feel free to come for me, I know I deserve it. But Daichi, right? Hehe
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Any ideas as to the promise Oikawa broke? And who is the mysterious guy going into the coffeeshop? Guess below, if you so desire! And come yell at me.


	18. Update

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An update

Hello friends! 

So, I don’t use Twitter or tumblr so I didn’t have a way to let y’all know other than doing this. 

Some of yall may have noticed that I didn’t post yesterday or that I haven’t responded to comments from last week (or if I did, it was really late). And I wanted to let you all know and not just leave it.

This past week has been one of the most eventful in my life. So much has happened and I’ve gone through so much, and because of that, I didn’t write. I can’t really say anything for confidentiality reasons (I want to stay as anonymous as possible, not that anyone I know would ever find this but you never know). I’m fine for the most part but it’s definitely been a rough week. 

All that to say, there won’t be a chapter this week, and probably not next week either as I work to deal with everything. If I have any free time to sit back, I’ll probably write bits here and there but no guarantees. 

I know I didn’t have to tell y’all anything and that I have no obligation to give you chapters each week, but you guys really mean so much to me. I started writing this fic as a way to step away from my novel for a bit so I could come back to work on the next draft with fresh eyes, and I didn’t expect to make friends through it. You guys have made this such an amazing experience for me and my lil measly first attempt at fanfic. I never expected this to be at the word count or hits and comments it is. To be honest, I didn’t think anyone would read it other than the two friends who knew I was doing this. You all are incredible, and I’m so lucky to have you here. 

I’m not leaving, you can count on that! I’ll be back soon with guns blazing and words written. You can expect that. 

Till then, feel free to continue yelling at me in comments. Ill try to respond to as many as possible over the next week, and if I haven’t responded to your comment (or comments) from the last week, I’ll get there eventually! 

You guys rock. 

Love,  
icedlatteextrashot


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